


Wrap My Flesh in Ivy and in Twine

by Comicsohwhyohwhy, shinealightonme



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Communication Failure, Family, Lynch Sibling Rivalry, M/M, Magical Bond, Post-Canon, Thanksgiving is ruined
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-12-13 21:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comicsohwhyohwhy/pseuds/Comicsohwhyohwhy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightonme/pseuds/shinealightonme
Summary: "Cabeswater broke him," I broke him, "Cabeswater's going to fix him."Ronan will do anything to save Matthew. But he wasn't counting on Adam getting involved.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is complete. New chapters will be posted every Wednesday and Saturday. The ratings and the tags reflect the story as a whole and will not change.
> 
> We thought everyone could use some magical angst before Call Down The Hawk. You're welcome.

Something is on fire.

Ronan doesn't know what. Or where. He just runs and hopes it's behind him.

It's so fucking dark. How can it be dark when there's a fire somewhere, close – unless he's what's burning, swallowed so deep in fire there's smoke pouring out of him too thick to see through.

His shoulder slams into another tree. _Fuck._ He isn't burning. If he were he'd have set half the forest on fire by now. He stumbles left and makes it two more steps before another branch hits him, snapping and bending away.

He only just catches himself before he falls, scrambling to get further away from whatever is burning. There's things brushing against his face now, and they don't feel like branches, all smooth and slick. Ronan can't breathe –

And then he wakes up, adrenaline still crashing through him telling him to _run run run_, but he's looking down at himself, unmoving on the bed, eyes blank, and there's nothing he can do.

Declan is standing in the doorway, one of Niall's old shotguns in his hands but lowered, pointed at the floor. He watches for a moment and then steps out of view. Ronan hears his footsteps disappear into the house.

_Please._

But Declan comes back too fast, and Ronan knows he failed again. "There's been no change."

He doesn't wait for Ronan's dream paralysis to wear off, just turns around again and leaves. If he'd stayed Ronan would probably have slugged him, would have wiped that indifferent, unsurprised expression right off his stupid face.

And then Ronan is back in his body, which isn't as much of an improvement as he hoped. He feels nauseous and dizzy and drained. He sits up slowly, waits another few seconds before he stands. He wobbles at first but he manages to walk out of his bedroom and down the hall. The door he's heading for is still half open from Declan's check-up.

Matthew is lying on the bed, perfectly lovely and perfectly asleep.

He looks just like their mother.

Ronan leaves.

Declan is in the dining room. The table that used to be covered with scribbles and sheet music is now full of textbooks and notebooks, Declan's schoolwork that he transported here by executive decision and totally unwanted – and one notebook in particular, small Moleskine, that he's writing in as Ronan enters the room. He shuts it and puts it in his pocket as though to stop Ronan from reading over his shoulder.

Ronan does not want to read it. Ronan wants to burn it. He lets Declan remove the temptation.

"We've tried six variations on that theme. It's time for something new."

"_I've_ tried. You've been playing with dad's guns."

Ronan stop in front of the kitchen counter. There's a pot of coffee and a bottle of whiskey. He has no idea what time it is. That doesn't really factor into the decision.

"Fine, _you _tried. And you aren't getting any closer."

"I'm getting closer to throwing you out of here. You haven't had to shoot anything in days. I don't need you."

"_Not creating a monster_ isn't the same as progress. If your magical forest could help it would have by now. We have to try something different."

Ronan grabs the whiskey. He doesn't want to be awake right now.

"Cabeswater broke him,"_ I broke him_, "Cabeswater's going to fix him."

*****

Ronan's first attempts at fixing what he'd done to Matthew were all over the place. He'd fall asleep trying to dream something, anything, that would wake Matthew up, only to lose a hold of whatever he was trying to take out before he would wake up. Or worse – things slipped through, things he never intended, and Ronan had to deal with them alone.

And then he wasn't alone anymore. Declan annexed his living room only hours after Matthew collapsed, having driven down as fast as he could. He immediately started asking questions, and fuck, Ronan hated talking to Declan about his dreams. But at least those questions had answers – _what was in the dream, what did you see, what did you try to take out, what was it supposed to do, how had it worked in the dream, what else had been there_, one after the other, on and on.

It was easier than the other questions.

"What happened to him?"

_I wanted to make him real. A normal person. Not dependent on me._

"What did you do?"

_I tried to separate him from Cabeswater._

"What does that mean?"

_It means I fucked up._

"I can see that. More details."

All he knows is that he pulled something out, a pair of scissors, dreamt up to cut Matthew's bond to the dream realm. Matthew's bond to _him_. To make him so real that nothing would happen to him if Ronan died.

But then he used them, and everything went wrong.

He felt what had happened even before he got the phone call from Aglionby. His hands were shaking so much he almost couldn't pick up.

Declan wrote down everything Ronan told him and frowned at it like it was a homework assignment. Then he started telling Ronan what to dream about.

Ronan was almost glad Matthew wasn't around to hear that argument.

But it only took Declan the better part of an hour to get the hospital to move Matthew to the Barns. _I pulled some strings_, he said, and Ronan was so relieved to have Matthew home again that he didn't even give him shit for that. By the time he thought to complain, Declan was firmly camped out in his house, like he wasn't going to leave no matter how many times Ronan called him _a useless bougie fraud who wasn't here when it might have mattered._

Ronan resigned himself to this uneasy alliance, started actually trying to answer Declan's questions in earnest. He didn't see any better option.

*****

Now Ronan is drowning, and the feeling is almost depressingly familiar. At least this time it isn't acid, but it doesn't feel like water either. He's falling, or maybe flying – it's impossible to tell what is up or down. But there's an enormous hand squeezing his ribcage, something mercilessly drawing him towards itself, something he knows in his bones is patient and ancient and terrifying. Something that wants and wants and always gets what it wants, in the end.

_Hungry._

He's getting closer to it, and there's light now, but it's diffused, murky. Then a sudden bright flash, and Ronan can see that there's walls all around him, covered in a fine downy fur, shining wet. Something is gaping on those walls, and every part of Ronan screams at him, _don't look,_ _no further, turn around_ –

He wakes up in a soaking wet bed, his body cold all over. Declan doesn't linger in the room, and he doesn't hear a shotgun blast, so whatever was there with him he didn't bring it back. The terror still doesn't want to leave him.

His phone rings, and Ronan flinches violently. At least the dream paralysis is gone. But now he's gulping in air like he was really drowning. It takes a few seconds before he can press the button, before he feels like Adam won't immediately catch on that something is wrong.

"Shouldn't you be in class?" It comes out harsher than Ronan intended, but his mind is still screaming, _run run NOW_.

Adam takes a deep breath. He clearly wasn't expecting their conversation to start like that. "I wasn't feeling well."

"Shit happens." Ronan knows he should be nicer, _wants_ to be nicer, but he can't muster the energy, not when he's lying in a puddle of sodden mattress and his body is still in alarm mode from whatever was waiting for him in that murky darkness. Not when Matthew is lying next door, the very definition of 'not well'.

Adam must not know what to do with that, because he doesn't speak for a few seconds. "Yeah, I guess. Might be a stomach flu. It's weird though."

Ronan closes his eyes. He can hear Declan rummaging through the bookshelves in the living room, then heavy steps on the stairs.

"Hey, I gotta go. It's not a good time."

Adam's voice is small and oddly guilty. "Okay. Talk soon?"

Ronan hangs up.

****** 

Some part of Ronan hates it most when Declan's interrogations actually yield results, but he doesn't say anything about it. This is for Matthew's sake.

"Feedback," Declan says, as if he were in some big shot business meeting.

"My feedback is you're a bag of dicks wearing a suit."

Okay, so he _mostly_ doesn't say anything about Declan's interference. It's hard to let it slide by completely without comment. _He_ should know how his dreaming works. He shouldn't need his brother to tell him.

Declan simply ignores Ronan. His eyes are shining, like he's actually convinced whatever he's come up with is brilliant. "Audio feedback. If you put a microphone too close to a speaker you get a horrible squealing sound, like an obnoxious little brother whining – if you want to remove the distortion you have to move the input and the output further away."

"I'm not a _microphone_. It's never mattered before where I dream."

"You've never had a situation like this before. Whatever you did before isn't cutting it, that's why I'm here."

"I didn't ask you to be here." Ronan knows his protest has lost its urgency out of days of repetition.

"You ought to move out of this room, anyway," Declan says, like he's not done proving that he's the superior brother yet. "All of this hovering by the sickbed is ghoulish."

Ronan stomps down the stairs and drops onto the couch. Declan follows and looks up at the ceiling, dissatisfied. "We haven't increased the distance much, not in absolute terms," so Ronan storms all the way out to the farthest barn, just to make Declan keep following after him.

It backfires when he realizes: "What if something does happen with Matthew and we're all the way out here?"

Declan frowns, not willing to admit Ronan thought of something he didn't. "Give me ten minutes to get back to his room."

"So it's fine if _you're_ a ghoul? Guess you don't have a choice, do you."

"Try not to bring the roof down on your head," Declan says on his way out.

Ronan lies down. He plans to give Declan only five minutes, except what if something really _does_ happen to Matthew? Even Declan is better than nobody. So he waits twelve minutes before he closes his eyes. Not that Declan's stupid idea is going to work; this isn't going to be any different than before.

It is different. All of his dreams since the one that screwed up Matthew had been chaotic, hard to control, even when they weren't nightmares. Everything happened sideways, just off from how Ronan was expecting. But this time, everything is clear, just him on a ghostly beach with peaceful waves and clouds obscuring the sun. He keeps expecting some sort of sea monster to surface, but it doesn't. Nothing happens, the lack of danger at this point almost as unnerving as the thing itself.

And then Ronan wishes with all his might, pictures something magical, a shell that he can open easily, and with it Matthew will wake up, and he sees it, shining white, half-hidden in the sand.

He reaches for it, and he knows he'll be able to pull it out, one perfect moment of certainty –

He wakes up coughing up sand, and the barn is covered in a thin layer of it all over.

Declan rushes into the barn, only to stop just past the doorstep. He looks around, wonder written clearly all over his face, like he hadn't fucking _grown up_ with magic.

"It worked."

"Yeah, I thought we should open a beach bar here, that's a good use of our time."

Declan just scowls at him. "It's a step forward," he says, grimly determined to be right, before he adds, "next time, maybe dream outside. It'll be less to clean up."

*****

Two days pass without any more progress. Ronan tried sleeping under the trees of Cabeswater, which is promising at first – his dreams seem crisp, he feels almost able to control them again. But whenever he tries to pull something out it changes, from air horn to rusty axe, from whistle to frying pan, and, in one particularly memorable instance, from alarm clock to a stack of Latin textbooks full of made-up phrases. After a while, almost succeeding becomes even worse than not succeeding at all.

He's crushing a paper plane in his hand, a paper plane that should have been a music box, when his phone rings. It's Adam.

Ronan doesn't know how many calls from Adam he's ignored by now. He can't do it forever, and part of him craves Adam's voice, wants to pretend that everything's alright.

"What?"

"Ronan, what's wrong?" Adam sounds alarmed. 

Ronan sighs. So much for _pretending everything's alright_. "Nothing."

"Why haven't you been picking up my calls?" Adam sounds almost painfully insecure.

"Just got busy. Declan's here."

This is edging closer to the truth, but it's still far enough off from the shame and guilt.

"_Why_?" Adam is so incredulous that for one second Ronan wants to laugh, lean back and shit-talk with Adam about his irritating brother who's hovering around when he shouldn't be.

But that isn't what's happening.

"He's _visiting,_" Ronan says. "Spying on me to make sure I don't set the Barns on fire by accident."

Adam gives a short laugh. "Okay, that sounds like him."

"I gotta go, he's gonna come yell at me in a second."

"Before you go –" Adam sounds urgent, but then he just stops mid-sentence, like he's forgotten what he wanted to ask.

"What?"

"Have you been dreaming lately?"

He can hear the worry in Adam's voice, and it's just one more thing to feel guilty about. "Yes, I'm not going to start oozing black crap again, okay? Stop worrying."

"Okay. Just be careful." Of course Adam has no idea that Ronan can't afford to be careful, that there's an entire notebook of dangerous things he's preparing to do. 

"Declan's babysitting me, how much trouble could I get into?" It's almost a fully fledged lie now. Ronan clenches his teeth as he waits for Adam's answer.

"I will try to be reassured by that."

Adam doesn't sound reassured. His voice is a little off, distant. Ronan hesitates.

"Are you okay? Flu gone?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I think. Just tired."

Adam's always exhausted, even at college, even when he's excited about all the knowledge to be ingested, all the new, happy, smart people to meet. But now he sounds dejected in a way he hadn't before. Ronan clears his throat.

"School going alright?"

"What? Oh. Yes." It seems Adam has already stopped paying attention to their conversation, and something inside Ronan clenches. Adam has no time for any of this, he shouldn't have to deal with Ronan fucking up. He wants the call to end.

And he gets his wish, because now it is Adam who clears his throat. "I had better go. Say hi to Declan and Matthew."

For a moment, Ronan can't speak and simply nods, then he remembers that Adam can't see him, and his voice sounds odd to his ears when he speaks.

"Yeah. Talk soon." He almost means it.

Ronan hears Adam take a deep breath, then he says, in a soft voice: "Take care, okay?"

The line clicks and he is gone. Ronan buries his head in his hands, but then Declan is in the door, mouth tight, and Ronan can't think about Adam now, not when one brother is dying while the other is in his face about it.

"Walk me through what it was this time."

****

Technically, Ronan sleeps a lot, and these days it's pretty much all he does. But he's constantly exhausted and a little dazed. It reminds him of nights spent with Kavinsky, except this time he doesn't have any pills to make it easier.

When he isn't scrambling for solutions, when he isn't fighting Cabeswater for what he desperately needs, he doesn't have it in him to do much. He's been sitting with Matthew for quite some time when Declan comes in. The look on his face when he scrutinises their little brother – from affection and hope to unsurprised resignation − makes Ronan want to punch a wall, until Declan turns to him. He must have come up with another foolhardy plan that he doesn't even really believe in because _of course_ Ronan will screw it up. The wall suddenly looks a lot less appealing than Declan's face.

"What about Parrish?"

Ronan hasn't spoken to Adam for days, despite what he promised when they last talked. He doesn't want to burden him with this mess, but talking to him without bringing this up feels too much like outright lying. So Ronan has gone back to ignoring his phone. Adam has tried to call twice, Ronan has struggled with himself twice, staring at the name on the display, but he has resisted. It's for the best.

At any rate, Ronan doesn't appreciate Declan using that tone when talking about his boyfriend. He puts on an insolent little smile. "He's at Harvard, getting a proper university education? Unlike you, filling notebooks with useless theories."

Now Declan is _definitely_ annoyed. Ronan will take his little victories where he can get them. "He has magic, right? Wasn't he bonded to the old Cabeswater?"

There's nothing to do but nod.

"Then he'd know that damn forest better than almost anyone. So what does he have to say about it?"

Ronan stares at the wall again. It still looks punchable, if not as punchable as his brother's face. "I don't know if he's bonded to _this _Cabeswater in the same way."

Declan sighs, all condensed condescension. "Well, he's still the closest thing we have to a magical forest specialist. He might have some ideas."

Ronan says nothing. Maybe if he just stays silent Declan will leave it, leave this room, leave the Barns altogether.

But of course Ronan doesn't get nice things, and so instead of just fucking off, Declan takes a few steps into the room and sits down on the edge of Matthew's bed, where Ronan can't pretend he doesn't exist. In fact, 'sitting down' implies a rather more composed movement than what Declan does. He pretty much flops down, and that is so uncharacteristic that Ronan can't help but stare. Declan's face is crumpled with consternation and irritation.

"You didn't tell him, did you."

Ronan doesn't dignify this with an answer. If Declan's so clever, he doesn't need him to confirm it, does he.

"Ronan. I'm serious. Parrish is a smart guy. We might be in luck here, okay? You have to tell him."

Ronan scoffs. "I don't have to do anything."

Declan stares at him, and then he chuckles. It's the last thing Ronan expects him to do.

"Is this actually you trying to be considerate towards another person? You have picked a great time to finally grow some social skills."

"You picked a great time to be an asshat. Oh wait, you're always an asshat."

Declan just looks exhausted, and it's much less fun to punch someone if they won't even fight back. "If you won't consult Parrish, then we need to bring in someone else."

Ronan stares. "What the fuck are you talking about? You can't just buy a _magic consultant_."

"You can buy anything if you know where to look." If that's a joke, Ronan hates it. If it's not a joke, he still hates it. "I've been going through dad's old notebooks. There's some interesting addresses in there."

"'Interesting' as in 'the kind of people that got him killed'?"

"'Interesting' as in 'know their way around magic.'"

"_I_ know my way around magic."

"You don't," Declan says bluntly. "You have natural aptitude and no education. We need answers, not gut feelings."

Declan wants to involve someone else, of course he does; he doesn't trust Ronan but he'll trust some random fucking _criminal_ he found in a phone book. If Ronan stays in this room any longer, he might really end up punching Declan, and Matthew would disapprove of that greatly. Maybe that, if nothing else, would do the job – just start one of those brawls Matthew hates so much right by his sick bed. Maybe that would startle him back to life.

Ronan slams the door behind him as he leaves, fuming. It isn't loud enough to block out the sound of Declan calling after him. He doesn't stop.

He walks all the way to the new Cabeswater, for the first time in days. It isn't far, but he's been visiting it in dreams so often that he didn't even want to go near the real thing. And he's still holding onto a grudge, that it couldn't have just let him free Matthew, that it couldn't have done nothing at all. Forgiveness will have to wait until Matthew's awake again, if then.

At first he walks briskly, leaving Declan behind as fast as possible, getting his heart pounding loud enough it can drown out thought. But he can't actually walk fast enough to avoid noticing the corruption that's taking root in the forest; there's too much of it – a blackened tree, the weather changing from minute to minute, the sky twisted and dark. It's a lot worse than it was the last time he was here. There's one miserable bit of vindication, that he was right not to bring Matthew's sleeping body into Cabeswater, but it's overshadowed by new anger, that Cabeswater is sick when he needs it the most. That Cabeswater accepted this corruption into itself instead of just telling Ronan to fuck off with his impossible dreams.

He stops by a pond, small enough that he's managed to skip a rock all the way across it before. He doesn't now. The surface of the water is clouded over with something that Ronan doesn't think is algae. It's dark red, like blood.

He squats down by the pond and picks up a stick, uses it to stir up the water without having to touch it directly. The pond scum fills back in wherever Ronan disturbs it, too fast for him to see down to clear water.

The anger disappears, draining away somewhere and leaving behind a hollowness. This is too much like it was before.

He needs to talk to Adam.

*****

Adam picks up after the first ring. He sounds a little breathless. "Ronan?"

"I'm sorry I didn't pick up."

Adam's laugh is haggard and relieved at once. "I was so worried. God."

Ronan closes his eyes. Adam shouldn't have to worry like that. _Adam will worry way more once he hears what's going on._

"Matthew's in a coma."

Adam is silent. Ronan doesn't even hear him breathe.

"A magical one," he adds. 

When Adam finally speaks, he sounds wary. "How did this happen? _When_ did this happen?"

"A few days ago. Last week," Ronan admits. "The school called. They called a doctor first. Declan brought him home."

"But how did this _happen_?"

Adam sounds almost angry, and suddenly Ronan snaps. He can't deal with another person judging him, blaming him, even if they're right to. Especially because they're right to, and because they are Adam, and Adam left for college, and now he's demanding that Ronan tell him everything about how he screwed up, while Adam was busy living a new life that Ronan isn't part of.

"I tried to save him, okay? I tried to…dunno…separate his life force from mine, or some shit like that."

"You…what? How?" Now Adam just sounds confused, and that's better than anger at least.

Ronan thinks of sleepless nights, imagining what he hadn't been there to see but what Declan had described in detail – Matthew unmade when the demon attacked Ronan, Matthew slipping away just because Ronan was in danger (Ronan is a weapon, he is dangerous, he will always be in danger). He thinks of visiting Matthew at school, how tidy his room was, so at odds with his public persona. He thinks of the worry that maybe Matthew wasn't really a full person, maybe he was just a pretty shell Ronan created, fated to break when Ronan died. It had become unbearable, until Ronan knew that he had to try and give Matthew the autonomy to truly live, independent of him.

He doesn't say any of it.

"I tried to pull something out of a dream to sever our connection. To turn Matthew into a normal person. But I fucked up. Something broke."

"Why didn't you _tell _me?"

_This _is what Adam is worrying about? "I was busy trying to _fix it_, okay? I'm dreaming all the time, trying to get Cabeswater to give me something to set this right. But nothing's working."

He can hear that Adam is agitated now, his breathing fast and shallow. "I'm really sorry, okay? But what were you _thinking_? Did you even consult with Calla and the others?"

And just like that, Ronan is done with this conversation. Adam can't do anything to help him. All he does is give pointless advice that Ronan has thought of himself, only to discard it. The psychics can't help – they never could, not when Gansey was dying, not when the demon was unmaking Cabeswater. Adam is thinking like Declan, trying to get outside help instead of letting Ronan solve this. Ronan has to solve this himself.

He doesn't want to talk to Adam anymore. Fuck Declan and his suggestions.

"I have to go. Declan is calling." Adam seems about to object, but Ronan doesn't let him. "I will let you know if anything changes, okay?"

There's another little pause, then Ronan hears Adam let out a little sigh. He knows when Ronan is done talking and Ronan knows he won't insist. "Okay."

"And I'll see you at Thanksgiving."

Thanksgiving is in a little over three weeks. Before this whole fucking mess, it had been the one thing to look forward to – finally wrapping his arms around Adam again. Now, Ronan can't really imagine looking forward to anything.

"Yeah. Keep me updated, okay? And take care of yourself?"

It's a question, and Adam sounds anxious and sad and isn't trying to hide it. Ronan feels a pang of guilt for having allowed this conversation to turn into a fight. At least when he sees Adam they might be able to talk this out, set things right between them.

It's only a little over three weeks, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Brick slams into his knees, into the palms of both hands. He'd been running for the grass, but he fell short by three feet. He's close enough that he can see green on the edge of his vision while he vomits.

The nausea came over him hard and sudden, and that's how it's coming out of him, too, bile forcing up out of his mouth so violently it feels like it's going to bring everything out of him with it, every essential living part of him spewed out on the campus courtyard for dozens of people to see.

He really wishes he'd made it to the grass.

"Adam! Are you okay?" Hailey asks, superfluous; total strangers giving him a wide berth know that he's not okay.

He tries to say _yeah, I'm fine_, but the thing that comes out of his mouth isn't words.

His arms are shaking by the time he's done retching. He almost falls into his own mess, but he manages to tilt, at least, so he lands more on his side than on his face, and not in his own vomit. One tiny blessing to be grateful for.

His friends are hovering, close but holding back the last little distance, a helpless _what do we do_ written across their faces. It would have been so much easier for everyone if they'd just kept walking.

Hailey hesitates, then comes and helps him sit up right. "Are you okay? Do you need to go to the health center?"

Adam shakes his head and then regrets it. "I'm okay. It's passing."

"Dude, you should really go see someone," Brandon chimes in. "We can walk you there."

"I can't, I need to find someone about cleaning this up." He can't leave a puddle of his own filth in the middle of the campus.

"Oh my god, Adam, we will find someone to take care of it." It's a damn conspiracy of concern at this point. "Will you at least go back to your room and lie down?"

Adam doesn't have another class until the afternoon, so he agrees. Brandon deputizes himself to walk him to his dorm and make sure he actually gets there. Adam is annoyed at the overkill, and a little bit worried that it isn't overkill at all.

He stops in the bathroom on his floor, looks over his reflection and grimaces; he's pale and sweaty, _washed up_, and in the long mirror he can see that there's flecks of vomit on the knees of his jeans. Splash back. Goddamn brick walkways.

He rinses out his mouth thoroughly and splashes water over his face, down the back of his neck. It's better than nothing.

"Dude," Cody asks when he returns to his room, incredulous and annoyed. "_Again_? You need to quit partying so hard."

Adam strips off the soiled jeans and throws them in his laundry basket. "I'm not hungover."

"Uh-huh." It's a lot of disbelief to cram into two syllables.

"I think I might be lactose intolerant."

His roommate stares at him for a second and then shakes his head, giving up. "Fuck, man, lay off the pizza." He isn't satisfied by this answer. Adam doesn't have a better one for him.

Cody pointedly opens a window before he leaves. Adam, who meant to get started on his chemistry problem set once there were no watchful eyes on him, curls up on the bed instead. There's a hollow ache throbbing inside him, but also somehow around him; he wakes up without knowing he was asleep and finds his hands pressed to his chest, like he's desperately holding back something that's trying to escape from him.

It's been an hour since he puked. That's probably long enough that he can risk calling.

Ronan doesn't answer.

Adam doesn't feel up to eating yet. He skips lunch and forces down a granola bar and a lot of water. He's kind of concerned about dehydration. That had been the only thing the health center _had_ been able to find wrong with him, when he didn't know what was happening. _Normally when I see a freshman with dizzy spells and nausea, I do a pregnancy test_ the doctor had said, inappropriately cheerful,_ are you sure it's not stress? _And Adam hadn't even been sure, then.

He makes it to his afternoon class okay, but as the lecture goes on he has a harder and harder time focusing. He's tired and worried and mad and it's all making it hard for him to listen to the professor, to read the words on the board. Except then he realizes that actually, he can't hear _anything_, can't make out any words at all, anywhere, and he notices when he starts to fall but he doesn't notice when he lands.

He can't have been out long. The students staring at him are still in the desks when he comes to.

The professor sends him to the health center. He wants to argue with her, but he can't really make words happen, and his one feeble attempt is rebuffed with a firm denial. "You hit your head," she tells him, "we're not taking any chances," and she sends the TA to walk with him. Adam is really sick of not being able to walk himself anywhere.

He doesn't have a concussion, at least. That's something to be glad of. They get worse, after you've already had one.

The nurse asks him a lot of questions about his health, his activities, his course load. He can tell from the way she keeps digging that she knows he's being evasive. He doesn't think that she'll buy his _pizza allergy_ story, so he tries saying – truthfully – that he skipped lunch, just the once, because he was in a rush. She's already pulled his records, though, and she knows he was in here complaining about dizziness and nausea two weeks ago. He's left with an unpleasantly familiar feeling, disappointment from someone who knows that you're complicit in your own suffering. But what is he supposed to tell her, _my boyfriend is accidentally using magic to long-distance torture me_?

No. It isn't that bad, anyway. It won't be that bad.

He hikes all the way back to the classroom after his appointment ("stress," he explains to his professor, except then he has to dodge a lot of well-meaning questions and invitations to come to office hours with any concerns) and then he runs a load of laundry before the smell can get anymore ingrained in the room than it already is. While it's running he calls Ronan.

"How's Matthew?"

"How do you _think_?"

He knows he needs to be gentle with Ronan right now. That Ronan is living all of his worst fears and breathing his own guilt every moment along the way. He ought to say kind loving things and forgive the outbursts, until this has been settled.

But he's tired, and lightheaded; his knees are sore and he needs to find someone to get today's notes from and he still feels hollow in a way he can't explain. He's rubbing his hand over his chest, trying to soothe that ache, and he doesn't remember deciding to do that.

"You didn't tell me when this started," Adam says, "how should I know if you'd tell me when it's over?"

"Sorry I'm not giving you hourly fucking updates. If you wanted to keep tabs on me that bad you should've thought of that before fucked off to Harvard."

It hits like a slap. Part of Adam knew that Ronan blamed him for leaving, even if he'd always hidden it before. Apparently he can't hide it anymore, and the guilt is gnawing a hole inside Adam's chest. "I just thought that I could help you come up with ideas. If I knew more about what you're doing."

"I don't want your ideas."

"But –"

Ronan doesn't even let him get a word in. "I don't _want _them, alright? No ideas, no help. I screwed up, I'll fix this myself."

Ronan is so hurt, but of course he has to wear it like anger, all spikes and venom. Adam doesn't know how to deal with that Ronan, at least not over the phone, when he can't even ground him with a touch, when all he has are his inadequate words. Neither of them knows what to say after this, and Adam can feel Ronan's relief when they've finally made it to the awkward goodbyes.

_It will be easier to talk to Ronan in person, it always is. It'll be easier when I can see the problem, when I'm back on the leyline and can talk to Cabeswater, when I'm there._

He just has to last one more week.

****

One week feels too long when you spend half of it with your body giving out on you. The reactions seem to get worse every time Ronan does something. Adam doesn't know _what _he's doing, exactly, but whatever it is, Cabeswater is rebelling and suffering and pulling Adam along with it.

Ronan still isn't forthcoming with details the few times they talk, but it doesn't sound like there's any progress. Ronan still can't pull out anything that works. Declan tried to rope in some old associate of their father's, and Ronan sounds almost triumphant when he tells Adam that nothing came of it, just some useless trinket that Declan spent too much money on. 

Adam tries to keep it together. He goes to his classes. He doesn't faint in front of people anymore, small mercies, and it's a good thing that he isn't close with his roommate, or Cody might tell his friends how he found Adam passed out on the floor one afternoon. He still gets worried looks from Hailey and Brandon, though, and he knows he doesn't look great, especially with the trouble he's had lately keeping down food. He's taken to regularly skipping lunch; at least it saves him some money.

The night before he drives back to the Barns Adam wakes up with a horrible constriction in his chest. There’s pressure coming not from the outside but from the inside, like there's something in him that shouldn't be there.

Compared to that, the skin-deep sting barely registers, not until his hand reaches up and he notices another flare of pain, notices a slickness over his skin, notices most of all that _he hadn't told his hand to move_ – and before he can tell it to stop his fingernails dig into his chest and drag across it.

He'd scratched himself until he bled, in his sleep, trying to dig out something that was inside of him.

He grabs the wrist of his bloody hand and pulls it away from his body, holds it above him in the air. It doesn't want to go. His elbow wrenches, so hard and fast it makes his shoulder scream and then pop out of place. He tightens his grip, hanging on even as he's hit with another wave of pain. His arm curls in on itself in little jerks and twitches, straining to twist his palm back toward his chest, to shove the nails inch by inch closer toward his skin, even though the whole arm ought to just be hanging useless at his side.

Adam rolls over in bed. For one horrible eternal second he's lying on his side and all of his weight presses down on his dislocated shoulder. It takes every ounce of resilience he's ever cultivated not to cry out; Cody left for the holiday that afternoon, but Adam has overheard enough of his neighbor's hookups to know how thin the walls are in the dorm. He will wake someone up if he screams.

He bites his lip and holds in the howl that wants to escape him, one more thing in his body that doesn't belong. He pushes himself again and rolls onto his stomach, pinning his renegade arm down under his own weight. His hand is still twitching against the mattress, nails scratching in vain at his sheets, but he's prevented any new gashes, at least.

Now he has nothing to distract him from that alien sensation inside his chest.

It's like someone dropped a stone into his torso, its massive solid weight pushing everything else out of place: his lungs flattened, his heart clenched into a tiny knot, his spine and rib cage pushing out of his flesh. For a wild second he thinks _tumor_, but there's an unshakeable sense of _wrongness_ about this thing. This didn't grow inside of him. It's an intruder, an invasion, and he wants it _out_, even if he has to claw it out –

_Stop panicking and think,_ Adam tells himself, or Cabeswater, or his hand straining anxiously to help rid him of this. The _thing _feels horrible, but if it really was crushing him from the inside, his heart wouldn't still be beating, a thousand times a second, his lungs wouldn't still be taking in tiny shallow gasps of air. He arches his back, a tiny amount, still enough movement to send a lightning bolt of pain radiating out of his shoulder and to let his hand wriggle down one inch toward the vulnerable skin over his stomach. He drops his chest down again, fast, satisfied with the knowledge that his bones have not been pushed out of place, shoulder excepted. This _thing_ that he can feel inside him isn't actually _doing_ anything to him, not physically, not anything that would put him in jeopardy. The only harm that's been done was done by Cabeswater in its attempt to protect him, an immune system out of control. All the _thing_ is doing is making him feel pain and fear, and he knows how to handle that – breathe, shut your eyes, don't make a sound, think about something else, wait it out.

It makes him wait an eternity, but it does start to ebb away, like he knew it would.

Adam sits up woozily and touches his shoulder. He can feel it sticking out of place. He wonders how he's supposed to explain a dislocated shoulder in the middle of the night to the health center – and then his arm jerks again, one last time, fast and _in_. When he's finished gasping and blinking away tears he realizes that his shoulder isn't sticking out anymore. In the quiet inside him from the _thing_ being gone, he thinks he can feel a tentative remorse, the cool brush of leaves sliding against his skin: comfort.

He very gently tries shrugging his shoulder. It hurts like hell, but it moves. He grimly accepts Cabeswater's apology.

He lifts his hand in front of his face. In the dull Cambridge light seeping into the room, the stain on his fingers, under his nails, looks too dark, something other than blood. He stops looking at it, scrounges one-handed through his dirty laundry until he digs out a sweater, pulls it on over his head and grits his teeth while he feeds his right arm through the sleeve. Then he creeps down the hall, makes it to the bathroom without running into anyone.

There's a moment where he looks in the mirror and his heart stops. Because – it's him, and he doesn't know why that's terrifying, what he was expecting to see besides himself.

The blood on his hand has gone sticky and dried on. It takes some work to scrub it off, and there's one irritating trickle of it that has run all the way up his arm past his elbow. He has to keep pushing his sleeve up, until he's gotten the last of it and there's no putting it off anymore. He lifts the front of his sweater up and examines his chest in the mirror – more blood to clean, and the scratches aren't bleeding but they aren't closed either. His mind blanks out on where he's going to get bandages big enough to cover them. He doesn't have anything but bandaids in his room. It's one more thing than he can think about right now.

He's sweaty and wrung out and he wants a shower, but he didn't bring a towel with him, doesn't want to risk another trip up and down the hall to get one. He turns the sink on full blast and starts wetting paper towels to dab the blood off his chest.

****

He wakes up early in the morning, and everything feels sore and tense; he reaches for the phone with his good arm while still lying down. For once, Ronan immediately picks up, and Adam wonders if he slept at all, as early as it is. Well, he _did_ dream, Adam got tangible proof of that – but trying to take something out to save Matthew hardly counts as rest.

"Adam?"

"Hi. I'm about to leave for the Barns."

Adam can hear how hoarse he sounds, but Ronan doesn't seem to notice. Adam is relieved. Ronan can't know how this affects him, so he doesn't even ask if Ronan tried anything 'special' last night, even though it felt pretty damn special on his end.

"Okay. I'll expect you in the evening."

Ronan's voice is flat, emotionless, and Adam feels a pang at that. He knows he shouldn't, because Ronan has other things on his mind now. He can't expect him to just switch to being excited about seeing Adam again. Their recent conversations have all been a mess, both of them close to breaking point, and Ronan is probably dreading more fights once they're reunited, or having to talk things out. Ronan would probably prefer another fight.

At any rate, that isn't the most urgent thing to worry about now. So far, Adam has avoided serious injury; if Ronan tries anything while he's driving, he might not be so lucky.

"Yeah, I'll see you tonight. What are you planning on doing today?"

"Why?" Ronan sounds wary, as if Adam were an overbearing parent trying to check on their child.

"I just thought maybe we could try some stuff once I'm there. And maybe you could try not to tire yourself out?"

Ronan doesn't immediately answer, but when he does, he sounds pissed. Adam isn't surprised. "You're not Gansey, okay? Don't pretend to know my limits better than I do."

_I don't, but you don't know mine either_. But Adam can't say that, he can't make Ronan think he has to choose between Adam's comfort and his brother's life. Instead he settles for: "Did you even sleep last night? You sound tired."

Ronan gives a frustrated little sigh. "I sleep all the time, only it’s not helping."

"Working yourself into the ground isn't going to help either."

Ronan's laugh is bitter. "Look who's talking."

Adam desperately casts about for something to say that would make Ronan understand. It's hard when there's still terror from last night lingering in his bones, when he can feel it slowly twisting his insides, turning to anger. "I know you don't want me to, but maybe I can help? I know Cabeswater, after all."

Ronan scoffs. "You sound like Declan. I broke Cabeswater. Nothing works the way it should anymore."

"Cabeswater has been corrupted before. It’s been half destroyed and we still got it back, didn't we?"

"We didn't get my mom back."

It's both angry and hurt, a mix that's very Ronan, and Adam hates hearing him like that. Adam's eyes are burning with exhaustion and he rubs at them violently. He just has to make it to the Barns, then they can talk.

"Can you maybe just wait with trying anything more until I'm there?"

Ronan only sighs, and Adam isn't sure if that means he assents, but it's the best he's going to get.

******

Driving through Boston always feels like taking his life into his own hands. It doesn't help that he's not the only person fleeing the city the day before Thanksgiving; at least he has the whole day off, and doesn't have to make the twelve hour drive at night, in winter.

It's going to be enough fun as it is.

Traffic thins once he gets out of the city, the cars around him all joyfully speeding up. Adam drives fifty-five in the exit lane. Car after car passes him, and he can picture Ronan in each of them, swearing at the driver ahead of him, _move your ass, while we're all still alive_ –

Someone _honks_. His tires just crossed over the line into the next lane; he straightens out and lifts his foot off the gas until he's dropped down to fifty.

It happens again in Pennsylvania; he feels lightheaded, and drifts onto the shoulder, or maybe he pulls off to the shoulder because he feels lightheaded. Fights down the panicky impulse to stomp on the brakes and just lets the car coast to a stop.

He sits in the car and waits for it to get worse. If he has to black out, to throw up, to lose control of himself, at least he won't lose control of the _car_, won't crash into a tree or the median or some family of four taking the kids to Grandma's for the holiday –

It doesn't get worse, and after an embarrassingly long time he realizes that it's three o'clock in the afternoon and he was so focused on keeping his car on the road that he never stopped for lunch.

He throws the car back into gear and merges onto the road, pulls off at the first exit advertising food. He pictured himself just pulling into a drive-thru, even though the idea of fast food makes him feel queasy, but the first place he sees is a diner.

The diner's all but empty, which is probably why the waitress stays and chats with him after putting in his order. That, or he just looks that pathetic, but at least she's being delicate about it.

"You getting some time off for the holiday?"

"Yeah," Adam says, "I'm driving home to see my family."

"Let them take care of you, all right? You look like you could use it."

"I've just had some long days. I'll be fine."

She brings him a free slice of pie with the check. He asks for a box, so she doesn't have to know that he never ate it, that his stomach had suddenly turned and left him feeling ill again.

***

Time flows slowly, viscous, and he drives and drives and holds onto the steering wheel to keep from sliding down in his seat and not getting up again. He would like to just not get up again. It would be safer, because Ronan will try to dream, and then –

But then Adam arrives at the Barns. He only allows himself to breathe out in relief after he parks his car in the driveway and gets out. His legs wobble.

Ronan must have heard him arrive, and sure enough, when he walks towards the door it opens from the other side. But standing there is Declan, not Ronan. There's a thin smile on his face that almost looks genuine, as if in the middle of all of this he's actually happy to see Adam.

"Parrish. Glad you're here."

Adam doesn't really know how to say hello to Declan. Most of their interactions revolve around whatever shitty and/or funny thing Ronan has just done. They've shared complicit eye rolls, but usually, Adam tries hard to be as nondescript as possible when stuff between the two brothers is going down – which seems to be every time they meet, be it for Christmas or Matthew's birthday.

"Hi, Declan. How are things?"

Declan raises an eyebrow, and it's such a Ronan-look that Adam almost expects him to say something shitty and sarcastic: _oh, just peachy, I just love it when members of my family are in comas, home sweet home, am I right?_

But of course that isn't Declan's style. "No change. Ronan is out with the cows. Do you want to get your stuff into the house before going up there?"

Declan must have already decided what the answer to that is, because he takes Adam's bag from him, as if he were a frail flower in need of help. Adam follows him with a twinge of annoyance. He must not be keeping it together, if Declan takes one look at him and decides he’s incapable of carrying one damn bag.

The living room is in disarray. The first thing Adam sees is a table full of notes in Declan's meticulous handwriting, next to a laptop. There's cushions and a blanket on the sofa, as if Declan had at times simply fallen asleep while researching. Then he sees the sideboard, or more precisely, what's on there – a half empty bottle of whiskey, no glasses.

"He's not doing well." Declan has apparently been watching Adam from the stairs.

"He's been hard to talk to, lately."

Declan half smiles, and it doesn't look happy at all. "Welcome to my world."

Adam indicates the table with his head. "Have you been able to figure anything out?"

Declan frowns, but like a man that is close to figuring out a puzzle that has been bothering him for a long time. "Nothing conclusive yet."

"What do you mean?"

"Last night, we tried something new, and Matthew moved. Just for a moment, and then nothing again."

There's a glimmer of hope in Adam's chest, at the same time as a crushing feeling of dread. Of course last night, when things were _so great_ on his end, they tried something new, something that might _work_. "What did you do?"

"Ronan can put things back into dreams."

Adam gapes at Declan. "What?"

"Given that he can pull things out, normally, I thought we should try to reverse the process. He held one of dad's dream pens, the ones with an endless supply of ink, and left it in the dream. And then he was able to take something out that looked correct."

Ronan can put things into dreams. It's hard to process how limitless and mutable Ronan's powers are. How little Adam knows about his miracle of a boyfriend.

"What did he pull out?"

Declan pinches his nose and suddenly looks exhausted. "It looked like a remote control. Ronan tried to wake Matthew up by pushing some buttons. Nothing happened."

"I wonder if Cabeswater doesn't want to or can't help him at the moment."

Declan looks up sharply. "Do you think your connection with that forest could help with figuring that out?" 

Adam swallows. Declan can keep a secret, _if he wants to. _Adam can't risk telling him. "I hope so."

He nods curtly, satisfied with that answer. "I'll put your bag in Ronan's room. You should find Ronan."

***

Adam walks up to the big barn where the cows are kept. Slowly, the fear and tension drain away. The barns are still green and luscious and so familiar it hurts. The last few months before he left for college had been this, all day long – endless hours of just prowling the grounds, enjoying the sounds of nature, enjoying Ronan. It's a quiet sort of happiness, and sometimes Adam wonders why he gave it up.

When he opens the door, the warm smell of living creatures and hay hits him. He calls for Ronan. No answer.

As he walks to the back of the barn, he sees why – Ronan has fallen asleep on a little cot in the corner, next to one of his father's dream cows. At first glance, cow and boy look peaceful, like an illustration out of a children's book where nothing bad ever happens.

But then Adam sees that Ronan's eyelids are twitching, his body taut. He seems lost in a bad dream. Adam stops in his tracks, anxiously listening inwards. He still feels exhausted, but not as if he were about to pass out or lose control of his body, so he advances carefully.

"Ronan?" Adam speaks softly. He doesn't dare touch Ronan. Adam has a depressing amount of data that tells him that waking Ronan abruptly from a nightmare isn't a good idea.

Ronan still wakes up with a jolt, and at first looks at Adam with wide, unseeing eyes. Then he seems to come back to himself, and he smiles, and something inside Adam loosens. _They will be okay._

Ronan sits up slowly, then stands. He seems a little shaky. He's always pale, but now it looks unhealthy, his cheekbones even sharper than usual in his shadowed face. Adam swallows as they look at one another, and he can see his own expression of concern mirrored back at him.

Then Ronan exhales audibly and takes a step closer to hug Adam. Ronan holds him tight, as always, one hand around the back of his head, one on the small of his back, and Adam buries his face in Ronan's neck. For one moment everything feels the way it should be, safe and warm and familiar.

They part, and Adam still longs for Ronan, for his smell, his lips. But Ronan doesn't kiss him. Instead he looks at Adam searchingly again and frowns.

"You look like shit."

Adam almost laughs. "Thanks, Lynch, I like your face too."

"I'm serious. What are those bastards at Harvard doing to you?"

Ronan sounds so protective, so ready to go and fuck up whoever is hurting Adam, that there's a moment when Adam thinks he can't do it. He just wants to tell Ronan what's going on, wants to curl up in Ronan's arms and wait for him to make it right. But he doesn't get to do that.

"Just lots of work, too many essays, you know the drill. And then they didn't even give us the whole week off for Thanksgiving."

Ronan snorts. "Yeah, that's what you get for getting into the best university, Parrish. If only you had aimed lower."

"I could have been really desperate and gone to Yale."

They grin at one another, and again there's that little voice inside Adam, _they will be alright, they will work this out_. Then Ronan sighs.

"I had better get back to the house. Declan wants to ‘talk strategy’," and Ronan does a ludicrous imitation of Declan’s serious voice that would make Adam laugh, in different circumstances. "He says Matthew moved a bit last night. Don't know if he's simply bullshitting me because he thinks I might give up otherwise."

It's genuine hurt posing as annoyance, and before he's really thought about it, Adam says: "I don't think so. He told me that, too."

Ronan looks up sharply. "You spoke to Declan about Matthew?"

"He was at the house when I arrived."

"So he also told you I can do a new trick?" It sounds bitter.

"He said you can put things into dreams. Ronan, that's amazing."

"Amazingly useless. I don't want _more_ things imprisoned in the dream realm."

"Yes, but this is a completely new kind of magic. There's so much to figure out about it. So many new possibilities."

Ronan frowns again, more deeply than before. "Did Declan pester you about helping?"

The air in the barn feels too thick all of a sudden, and Adam wishes they were elsewhere, not surrounded by eerily still dream creatures. "He just asked if I thought I could help. With Cabeswater."

Ronan turns around abruptly, reaches for a hay fork and transfers some hay from one heap to another with big, almost violent movements. Adam doesn't see the logic behind it. There probably is none.

"Ronan. What if I _can_ help?"

Ronan still isn't looking at him. "I don't want you to."

"But why?"

Ronan drops the fork, and his eyes are glowing dangerously. "Cabeswater is messed up, okay? I can't risk you fucking scrying and getting hurt too, or whatever."

Adam almost wants to laugh at that. Ronan has no idea.

"I can be careful."

"Like hell you can. I've seen you almost get lost. You don't know when to stop."

There's a dangerous heat spreading through Adam's body. He knows he's overreacting, but he's so tired, he can't take much more. "And you know your limits so well?"

Ronan is yelling now, almost no perceptible transition between a normal conversation and a fight. "This isn't _about_ me!"

"I think this is all about you, wanting to do it all by yourself, fix your own shit. That isn't how this works! Grow up, Ronan!"

When the words are out of his mouth, Adam knows he's gone too far, and sure enough, Ronan is startled into silence. Then he closes his eyes, as if he could make all of this disappear if he just tried hard enough. His voice is quiet again when he speaks.

"My stupid dickhead of a brother might not get why I don't want to drag you into this, but I thought you would understand. Declan just thinks of you as something to be used, and I…"

He doesn't go on, and Adam is tired, tired of all of this, and all he wants is to feel close to Ronan, so instead of answering he takes a step closer and wraps his arms around Ronan's neck. There's a little resistance, at first, but then Ronan relaxes, and their lips touch.

Adam tastes whiskey. He recoils, instinctively, and regrets it the moment it happens.

Ronan has an expression of disgust on his face, and Adam doesn't know if it's for himself or for Adam. Adam doesn't know anything. He has to look away from the darkness lurking in Ronan's eyes.

"Yeah, Parrish, I've been drinking. What about it?"

It's an answer to an unspoken question, and before Adam can say anything, he hears Ronan murmur: "I have to go."

He leaves Adam alone in the oppressive silence of the barn.

***

Ronan is a creature of absolutes. If he's going to fight you, he fights you; if he's going to storm out, he storms out.

Which doesn't mean the argument is over, that they won't pick right back up again at some point. But it does mean that there's no way Ronan is going to return to the barn, which makes it the best place to make sure Adam won't get caught scrying. Ronan isn't going to tell Adam anything or let Adam help brainstorm, so Adam might as well do the one thing he _can _do to help – and do it fast, before Ronan can get past Declan and into the house to dream again.

Adam casts about the barn and locates what he needs: an old-fashioned lantern, fastened to a beam in the corner. He gets it down and sets it on the floor next to the cot, then sits down cross-legged. It's hard to focus on the light, at first, Ronan's angry face the only thing he can see. But slowly, his body remembers how to relax, and his mind follows suit. There's a moment of perfect clarity when all he sees is the lantern, when he becomes the lantern, and then everything blurs and Adam falls.

It's a disaster. Adam knows what scrying can be like when it doesn't go well. How it can take him back to the worst moments of his life, imprison him in a world of pain and fear that he had hoped to never revisit. But this is completely different. This corruption isn't inside Adam – it's all around him. 

He expects to fall into Cabeswater, but instead he's in a dark place, a blackness that seems somehow thicker than the simple absence of light. When he reaches out his hand, he touches something warm and yielding. It's moving, as if it were taking a breath, but there's no sound. No light, no trees, nothing. No air, maybe, because Adam can't breathe, and then he does hear something, the sound of his own choking.

And then it's like someone turned on the sound with the press of a button, an assault on the senses so complete that Adam falls to his knees and covers his ears. Winds are howling, and a million voices are screeching at the same time. Usually, Cabeswater tries to be gentle with him, talk to him as if it were a person. It doesn't want to harm Adam, it wants him to understand, and in the course of their relationship it has learnt to be almost human with him. But there's nothing even faintly human in the voices that Adam hears. There's nothing to understand, just pure desperation, Cabeswater tearing itself apart from within.

There's a horrible jolt of pain, and Adam's last thought is that Ronan must not have gone to the house to dream.

***

He comes to sprawled out on the hard dirty floor. That's not even the part that strikes him as wrong, depressingly; it's that the light has moved, is now coming from above him.

Adam opens his eyes. The lantern is hanging on the wall, over –

Adam flails trying to push himself up, but he's reeling before he's even gotten sitting back up. 

Declan says, "Don't get up on my account."

Adam keeps trying to push himself up, with very little success. There's a feeling on his face like – he reaches up and pulls his fingers away – nosebleed, and there's blood down his face. _Shit._

"Seriously, don't move."

Declan is sitting on the cot where Ronan had been sleeping earlier, like some strange dark magic had come while Adam was away and taken one brother to leave the other in his place. He gets up from it now and squats in front of Adam, holding the lantern. He lets his eyes roam over Adam's face.

"Do you know how long you were out?" Declan says, just conversational.

Adam doesn't say anything.

Declan moves the lantern back and forth across his field of vision. Adam tracks it with his eyes. Declan frowns but nods, like he's satisfied with _that_ if not with anything else.

Adam makes another attempt at pushing himself up, since Declan seems inclined to let him. This time it works. He tries to lean against the wall of the barn, but there's a searing pain in his shoulder when he forgets it had been dislocated and puts weight on his right hand. He starts to fall back over.

Declan grabs his good arm, stabilizing him. Adam leans into the touch for a fraction of a second, too grateful for words, then he finds his balance and pulls away. Declan lets go of him immediately.

At least sitting up is the slightest bit less mortifying than lying down. There's still the fact that Declan had seen him like that at all, that he has his gaze fixed on Adam's bad shoulder. He doesn't know if Declan looks worried or angry or just indifferent. Maybe it's all three, or none of them, one brother as opaque as the other is easy to read.

"You're hurt."

"I'm getting better."

"This didn't just happen?"

"No." At least Adam isn't lying. Yet.

"Did you dislocate it?"

"It's fine."

Declan makes a derisive noise. "I had hoped that having you around was going to _decrease_ the dramatics."

"Sorry to disappoint." Adam's voice sounds thick and slurred. _Please let it be exhaustion, please let it just be exhaustion…_ "Where's Ronan?"

"Brooding," Declan says with no intention of being helpful.

Adam hesitates. Asking is risky; not knowing is worse. "He didn't see me, did he?"

"Right, because that sounds like Ronan. He would have abandoned your unconscious body to wander the grounds sulking."

Adam shuts his eyes, breathes in something too washed out and faded to be relief.

"Is this Cabeswater's answer, then?" Declan asks, level, as though his interest is only academic. "You ask it for help and it knocks you down?"

"To crudely simplify things, yeah."

"If you want to be crude and simple I can go get Ronan."

"_No_."

Declan notes the overreaction before making a choice to overlook it. "If that isn't what happened, tell me. I can't do anything if I don't know."

"Cabeswater is...damaged. It isn't itself right now. Whatever Ronan did, it hurt Cabeswater, and now it's taking everything Cabeswater has just to survive. Ronan's dreams are getting screwed up because Cabeswater can't spare anything for him."

"Or for you? It knocked you out just for trying to talk to it?"

Adam grimaces; not an answer, but something that could be taken for one.

Declan leans back with a sigh. "Well, I guess we can leave you out of it. Ronan will be glad."

"You can't tell him," Adam says.

"If I can take the _told you so_ then so can you," Declan says, and then cocks his head. "No, if you knew your scrying didn't work then there'd be no point in hiding it," and a chill runs down Adam's spine and curls up in his gut. "You don't want Ronan to know you passed out, you don't want him to know you're hurt – what the hell are you up to, Parrish?"

Minutely, Adam shakes his head.

Declan rockets up to his feet, looming. Adam, faced with a choice of craning his neck to look up at Declan, stays where he is. His body doesn't need the stress.

"You can play whatever games you want with Ronan," Declan says. "But this is _Matthew's life_ we're talking about."

"I know. I would never get in the way of that."

"Oh, you wouldn't, would you?" But then his voice loses the sneer and becomes horrifyingly thoughtful. "So then what do you call this? If you aren't getting in the way then what else could you be hiding? Not something that would help, not something neutral or you wouldn't be so scared of Ronan finding out, so then it would have to be…"

He stops for long enough that Adam hopes, futile, irrational, that he's giving up.

Declan says, "Ronan was dreaming just now."

Adam shuts his eyes.

"This. This happened because Ronan was dreaming."

"You can't tell him."

"This changes the situation. He needs to know."

"Why?" Adam does tilt his head up now, in defiance. "He's not the one running the show anyway, right? You're the one processing the facts and coming up with ideas. Why does he need to know?"

Declan's jaw clenches. "He deserves to know."

"Really," Adam says, with all of the derision he can muster up while bleeding on a barn floor. It's quite a lot, actually. "How do you picture that going, exactly? I tell him, _every time you try to rescue your brother, you hurt me_? Maybe I'm supposed to ask if he'll stop trying to save Matthew's life because I'm not _comfortable_? If I asked you that you'd tell me to fuck off, and you'd be _right_. He'll still keep dreaming, because he has to. The only thing we'd accomplish by telling him is that he'll feel guilty about it. He doesn't _deserve _that. And you already know that distracting him right now would be a disaster, or you would have run and got him the second you found me knocked out here."

Declan is silent for a long time, but it doesn't matter. Adam has him convinced; a Lynch doesn't need to think in order to argue, only in order to concede.

"Fine," he says. "We won't tell him. But we need to solve this fast."

"Trust me, I want to," Adam mutters. His nose is bleeding again. He wipes the back of his hand against his face. "So tell me everything you know."


	3. Chapter 3

Ronan is pacing, and with each step there's a disgusting squelching sound as the ground gives beneath his feet. Everything smells putrid.

The shed had looked so appealing after storming out on Adam, a place to cool down and gather his thoughts. A place to dream, no Declan talking his ear off about what he should do, one more attempt all by himself. But the vial Ronan tried to grab in the dream became something else the moment he woke up. This time, it wasn't Adam's face that greeted him, tired but still clearly happy to see him – it was cold slime, all over his body, the bed, the shed.

Now Ronan is leaving expansive, angry furrows in the green goo, never retracing his steps. He isn't sure what he pulled out, but he knows he doesn't care for it. It sticks to his soles like chewing gum and smells like rotten algae. It figures that he can create a whole new substance from nothing, but still can't wake his brother up. Some dreamer he is.

He should take a shower.

He should talk to Adam, who is probably going to avoid him now that they've fought. Adam, who came all the way to the Barns to spend time with Ronan, and who only found someone broken and sharp, someone who cuts you even if you handle them with care.

Ronan swallows, but brooding is no use to anyone, so he finally leaves the shed. Outside, he takes a deep breath of the balmy night air. As he looks out over the Barns, he hears a bird call out softly, and everything seems peaceful and perfect, the home he longed for for so long stretched out before him like a dream. What a mockery.

When he gets to the house, he slowly takes off his slime-covered boots, listening. But neither Adam nor Declan seem to be around. He takes one look at Matthew, even more angelic now that he is so far removed from life. The shower he takes is scalding.

As he slips under the covers, there's finally a hesitant knock at the door. For one moment, Ronan considers pretending he's asleep. But that wouldn't help, and anyways, he hasn't even switched off the light, so it's not as if he could convincingly pull that off.

"Adam?"

When Adam slips into the room, he's quiet as a ghost, even though he knows that Ronan is awake. Ronan props himself up in bed and looks Adam up and down. He still looks like shit, face even gaunter than usual, the shadows under his eyes a stark contrast to his pale face.

"What's up?"

"Nothing." It doesn't sound convincing. Ronan frowns. Maybe Adam was with Declan and doesn't want Ronan to know. That would be Declan's style, snatching Adam away as soon as he gets the chance, complaining about what a fuck up Ronan is behind his back. Maybe after their fight Adam is inclined to agree.

"Where have you been?"

Adam seems reluctant to meet Ronan's eyes. "Wandering around. Needed some time to think. What about you?"

"Dreaming."

"Did you get any results?"

Ronan lets himself fall back into the bed as Adam rummages through his bag. "Lots of green goo."

"Is that what you were trying to get?"

Ronan closes his eyes in frustration. "No, Parrish, I was in fact not trying to magically produce a shitload of slime, who would have thought."

Adam doesn't reply to that, and Ronan keeps his eyes closed until he hears the door again. Adam's voice is soft and maybe a little sad.

"I'm going to take a quick shower."

Ronan half sits up again. "Do you want me to…?"

But Ronan doesn't quite get to finish his question, because Adam is already out the door, has already closed it carefully, as if there's nothing at all that he wants from Ronan, even after not seeing him for months.

So Ronan waits.

When Adam comes back, he's dressed for bed. He switches off the light, then takes what Ronan had started thinking of as his side of the bed, in those long summer months preceding his departure, when Adam almost didn't go back to St. Agnes anymore. He turns towards the wall, and Ronan sees that his back is tense in the blue light of the night.

Ronan craves touching Adam, getting wrapped up in his warmth, finding comfort at the base of his neck. He really doesn't want to talk about what happened. But Adam seems wholly closed off to him, like a stranger, and for one moment Ronan almost can't breathe. _I'm losing him too, I'm losing him to his new life, to who he's becoming without me. I'm losing everything._

But then Adam sighs and turns towards him.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"I didn't want to fight, just now."

Ronan looks at the ceiling. There's nothing interesting there, so he closes his eyes.

"It's okay. I didn't want to fight either."

Adam laughs a little, a dry, jagged sound. "It shouldn't be that hard not to do something that we both hate, should it."

"Tell that to my long list of character defects and questionable choices."

"A list. Compiled by Declan?"

"Oh, his is not a list anymore, it's a whole series of books by now, cliffhangers and all. Didn't you see the notebooks downstairs?"

Adam's laugh sounds genuine now. Finally, Ronan does what he's been yearning for – he rolls over and wraps his arms around Adam, tangles his fingers in his fine hair, lets one hand wander down his shoulder. But instead of melting into him, Adam just tenses up again, the smile gone so fast that Ronan might as well have imagined it.

"Ronan, I'm really tired."

Ronan's mouth is dry as Adam wriggles out of his embrace. "Tired."

"Yeah, tired. I just drove down for nine hours."

Disappointment and disbelief mix and turn into venom, and the words are out before he can stop them.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have."

He doesn't look at Adam, but he can still feel his reaction, feel him flinch a little as if his movement disturbed the air around them.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Nothing." He mimics Adam's tone from earlier, and he knows that that will piss Adam off. And sure enough, when he speaks next Adam sounds angry.

"You don't think you owe me an answer? You think you can just not explain anything to me, ever, just do your own thing, and I magically know what you want or don't want from me?"

"I think I just made it pretty damn clear what I wanted from you."

Adam's laugh sounds bitter. "What, you wanted to sleep with me, like that makes it all okay?"

"I should be able to be intimate with my fucking boyfriend without everything being peachy."

Adam is gripping the blanket now as if he needs it for protection, knuckles white. "It'd be a whole lot easier to be _intimate_ if you actually trusted me enough to talk to me."

"I don't want to talk right now, I want to touch you. But clearly you don't want that."

Ronan knows how hurt he sounds. It should be embarrassing, still, to be laid bare like that, but it seems he has washed his shame down the drain, together with the slime from his failed dream. Adam breathes out slowly and audibly.

"This isn't about what I want."

"What's it about, then?"

Adam has his eyes closed now, and Ronan can see his eyelids twitch beneath his furrowed brow. "It's about saving Matthew. It's about fixing this. But I don't know how to be with you when you're like that."

Just wonderful. Adam has run out of words, but he also doesn't want to touch Ronan, be close to him, because he's such a fucking mess. Ronan turns his back to Adam.

"Let's just sleep."

He can almost hear that Adam wants to say something, but nothing comes. After a while Ronan hears the covers rustle, and he knows that Adam has turned away from him again.

Ronan doesn't fall asleep for a long time.

****

Morning dawns cold and clear. Ronan hasn't slept much. He's spent most of the last week asleep and he's still fucking exhausted. His body doesn't want to leave the warmth and comfort of the bed.

Adam stirs next to him, then opens his eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling. Ronan lets him be the one to say good morning, to reach out, to go for a kiss, maybe. But Adam just sits up, moving slow and stiff like he's exhausted too, even though Ronan knows he dropped off right after their argument. Now, Adam doesn't even look at Ronan. He almost absent-mindedly throws back the blanket, right into Ronan's lap, then stands.

Ronan doesn't have trouble getting out of bed anymore.

Declan must have gone into town, because there's an obscene amount of breakfast food laid out in the dining room. The last few days when Ronan has gone for a coffee-only breakfast, Declan has glared at him with that mixture of mad scientist and dictator he's had since he showed up with his little notebook; this morning Ronan barely merits a raised eyebrow. Instead Declan disappears into the kitchen and Adam slumps into a chair and doesn't even really look at all the food in front of him.

Ronan pushes a croissant towards him – of course Declan bought fucking _croissants._

Adam shakes his head a little. They've taken a million steps back in their relationship here, like everything of late, if Adam suddenly has problems accepting things from him again.

Declan comes back and puts a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of Adam without saying anything. He doesn't bring anything for Ronan, just sits down at the table, grabs something that looks like a brioche (Ronan has really spent too much time around Gansey, he shouldn't know what a damn brioche is). Then he shoots Adam a look. Ronan doesn't understand that look, but he knows he doesn't like it.

Adam picks up his fork and starts eating slowly, listlessly.

Ronan's stomach boils. Maybe he should just start this day with a shot of whiskey.

Then Declan throws something at Adam, a soft underhand. It lands on the table in front of him instead of hitting him – the tiny white bottle rolls and comes to a stop when it comes up against Adam's plate. Ronan can see the ADVIL label. Adam makes no move to pick it up.

"For your migraine," Declan says pointedly.

_Adam told Declan he had a migraine, but not Ronan._

Adam looks up and clenches his jaw while Ronan's brain is still processing that.

"You really shouldn't have. I thought I told you. I'm okay now."

Declan looks like he thinks Adam is full of shit, but he doesn't comment, and Adam lowers his gaze, slowly goes for the bottle and fiddles with the irritating child proof cap – whatever little non-verbal communication game the two of them have going on apparently over. Ronan downs a cup of black coffee in one go. The whiskey still looks tempting.

"Parrish and I had an idea." Ronan feels a new flash of anger that burns over and turns into embers, low but lasting. "We know that putting things back into the dream has an effect. We want more of an effect, we continue further on that track."

"So what, fill Cabeswater up with crap and it'll let Matthew go? Feed it enough tickets and it'll give us a brother? This isn't a fucking arcade."

"The idea isn't to keep throwing things into dreams over and over again," Declan says, and Adam grimaces, like he's irritated Ronan isn't getting this.

"So what, something bigger?"

"Something alive."

Ronan wants to answer, to discard the idea before it can take hold in his mind, but there's only stunned horror inside of him. Declan continues, as if he hadn't noticed Ronan freezing. "The cows are asleep anyway, what does it matter if you return one back to the dreams?"

They mean _cows_. Ronan breathes out slowly, but his body is still taut with adrenaline. "It matters a lot to the cow."

Declan makes a disapproving sound. "It's an animal, Ronan."

"So its life isn't worth anything?"

Declan looks exasperated and impatient now. The expression is so familiar it fully brings Ronan back to himself, away from images of his mother in Cabeswater, from Matthew imprisoned in a dream. "It doesn't really have a life. Those cows are basically decoration at this point, you can thank dad for that."

"You don't know what'll happen to it."

"No, that's the point of experimenting, to find out what happens."

Ronan looks at Adam, who has mostly been focused on his breakfast, shoveling it down in a robotic kind of way. "You like this plan?"

Adam sets his fork down, food only half-eaten, and pushes the fork around the rim of the plate like he's lost his appetite. His voice is flat when he speaks, as if he weren't really interested in the conversation. "I think it's worth trying."

****

Breakfast ends soon after in oppressive silence, most of the decadent buffet Declan has prepared untouched. Only the coffee has found universal acclaim.

Adam looks washed out and moves like a ghost, wholly unavailable to Ronan. Declan is the opposite – Ronan can almost hear him think, manic energy barely contained as he stacks the dishwasher.

"We should do it in the barn. You should be touching the cow when you fall asleep. If you have to be touching something to pull it out –"

"Don't fucking tell me how I work," Ronan spits, but he goes to the barn after all. It's not like the three of them can move half a ton of sleeping cow out onto the grounds.

Especially not if it's just the two of them. Adam doesn't even step inside, just watches from the door and abruptly says, "I'll go keep an eye on Matthew." He leaves before Ronan can comment on the abandonment.

Ronan sits on the floor of the barn and reclines, half sitting, half lying, propped up on the side of the cow with the wide stripe of white down her face, Niall's favorite. It's the biggest cow, and he's hoping perversely that that matters, that she'll be too big for this to work, except then he remembers why he's doing this and why this has to work.

He shuts his eyes and leans back into the living warmth of her side.

This is closer to the house than he's been dreaming lately, but it's still far enough from the black hole of his impulsive bad decision that when he goes into the dream it isn't a total nightmare scape. It's muggy and dark, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks but times a thousand; he knows somehow that it's day but he can barely make out the long grass waving in the field near his feet, everything darkened like someone slapped a shitty filter over the whole day.

He hears the cow behind him, lowing softly. She's up on her feet for the first time in years, and Ronan managed to wake up one of his father's creatures after all; he just had to put her to sleep to do it. Put her out of her misery.

She starts to walk away, and as dark as it is she's vanishing into the grass quickly, just the irregular patches of white on her hide leaving a shapeless spectral pattern to watch. Ronan starts to say something, but it's so hot, so humid, opening his mouth was a bad call; he feels like he's drowning, water rushing in through a careless opening, condensing in his throat and lungs –

He wakes up, drenched and alone, in a puddle on the floor of the barn; his head aches from where it must have smacked against the hard ground when he fell over because the object he'd been leaning on disappeared from the world. More bad planning on his part. Declan would have started out lying on the ground, just touching the cow with one hand.

Declan isn't anywhere in sight. It takes him a long time to reappear, Ronan's almost wondering if he's not coming, if Ronan's just going to snap out of his paralysis and walk into the house and find Declan sipping coffee in the living room with his feet up.

But then there's a pair of feet walking into view, and Ronan's vision whips around crazily. Instead of looking at the floor he's looking at the ceiling and Declan's face, Declan's hand pulling away from where it had just rolled him from his side onto his back.

"Don't touch me when I'm frozen," Ronan snaps at him a minute later.

"Right, next time I see you face down in standing water I'll just let you drown."

"If you were so fucking concerned you could have stuck around while I was unconscious."

"I went to check on Matthew. You do remember he's the reason we're doing this?"

"I thought _Parrish_ was watching him."

"You're the one who doesn't want Parrish involved in this."

"So _now_ you fucking listen to me."

"I always listen to you. I might _agree_ with you more if you could make up your own mind about what you want." Declan doesn't give Ronan a chance to tell him what he wants loud and clear. "So it worked."

"No, I got hungry and ate a thousand raw hamburgers while you were gone. What do you think happened?"

Declan sounds infuriatingly calm. "I was talking about Matthew." 

Ronan's heart lurches. "He –"

"He opened his eyes. For a second."

Ronan is on his feet so fast that his head starts turning. Dimly, he wonders if he has a bump on his forehead from having fallen over, but the voice in his mind drowns all other concerns out, _he woke up he woke up_ –

He doesn't pay Declan any heed, slaps his hand away as he tries to hold him back, and he's at the house before he's made a conscious decision. When he bursts into Matthew's room, everything is unchanged, Matthew still as death. Disappointment slams into Ronan.

"I told you it was just for a second." Declan's voice, disapproving, from the door.

"What the hell, he woke up for a second and then _this_ again?"

Declan pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't know if he was really awake, but he did open his eyes."

As reason catches up with Ronan he looks around the room. No one else is there.

"What does Parrish think?"

Declan looks shifty, uncomfortable. "He doesn't know what to make of it either."

"Where is he?" Adam didn't want to stay with him in the barn, but he isn't where he promised he'd be either. Ronan tries to ignore the darkness gnawing away at his insides.

"Went out into the grounds to check if you pulled anything out by accident."

"You let _Adam_ do that?"

"He's a perfectly capable adult, unlike some people."

"You gave him your fucking _shotgun_ and sent him out to hunt night horrors?"

Declan's tone is dismissive, final. "Parrish is smart enough not to hurt himself with a gun."

"I'm not worried about Adam hurting himself." Ronan glares.

All of a sudden Declan's face spells thunder too. "Why are you being so pissy about this? It worked, didn't it? We know we're on the right track now."

Ronan makes an exaggerated shushing gesture and mouths _not in front of the children_, and Declan glares daggers as he turns around and leaves the room.

Ronan closes the door carefully. "I'm going to try again."

"_Now_?"

"What, are you afraid I'm wearing myself thin?" Ronan's tone is cutting.

Declan scoffs. "We should evaluate what happened. Figure out how best to proceed."

"That's your style and Parrish's style, you go right ahead and do useless shit while I get to work." Ronan almost manages to hide the bitterness in his voice.

Declan still isn't convinced. "What if this has an adverse effect on Matthew if you overdo it? We know almost nothing about this new kind of magic."

That gives Ronan pause. But no, it can't be – he would have felt that, through this forsaken bond with his brother that he can't seem to sever. And Matthew seemed exactly the same as before, breath perfectly even. Nothing had changed. He has to try again, just once, if there's even a scrap of hope that Matthew will wake up. Analysis can wait until later.

But Declan has clearly made a decision without even consulting with Ronan, taking his silence for concession. "We don't know what this could do to Matthew. Let's wait."

It sounds final, and Ronan doesn't find it in him to argue. Instead, he turns around and leaves. Let Declan have his little rush of authority, think he won this one. Ronan knows what he has to do.

****

He lies on his back, this time, the fingers of both hands resting lightly on soft cow hair. The cows' sides rise and fall slowly while he lies between them, staring at the cobwebs on the high wooden ceiling.

This will be worth it. This is worth it. The last cow seemed fine, in the dream. Maybe this is the way, and Matthew will wake up and he will be done with this, done with messing with his father's creations.

When he falls into the dream, he expects the same colorless meadow as before. Instead it's a forest, everything tinted violet this time, more cheap filter work.

The cows are right next to him. Pulling them here was no effort at all, even easier than taking something out when he's at his best and Cabeswater isn't messed up. They look around slowly, hardly more dynamic than in the waking world, and then they start to amble away. Ronan watches them until they disappear, melting into the trees. He wonders if they'll still exist when he isn't there to watch them anymore.

He closes his eyes for a moment. It's ironic that he's able to do that in a dream. Maybe this way he could fall even deeper, start dreaming in the dream, until there's no reality left at all, no motionless Matthew, no fights with Adam.

But then he breathes out and wakes up and there's the wooden ceiling of the barn again. His planning ahead pays off; his head doesn't hurt and there's no water on the ground. All he has to do is wait until the dream paralysis wears off. _Until maybe he can see Matthew again_, and he can't quite silence the hopeful little voice that whispers in his head.

Then he sees legs approaching fast, and Declan towers above him, his chest heaving. He looks furious, and also uncharacteristically disheveled, as if he had spent the time Ronan was sleeping fighting some sort of dream monster. Ronan can't move, but something tightens in his chest. _Matthew_.

When he finally sits up, taking in a great gulp of air, feeling the rush to his head, Declan doesn't give him a second to compose himself.

"_Stop it_, Ronan."

"What happened?"

"You being a stubborn dickhead who never listens happened."

"What happened with Matthew?"

Declan looks confused. "What? Nothing."

Relief washes over Ronan, closely followed by irritation. "Then why are you yelling at me?"

Declan looks a little disoriented for a second longer, then his features arrange themselves into easy disdain. "Parrish could feel what you were doing. We thought you had brought something with you."

He glances quickly around the barn. Nothing. "Did I?"

"Not that I've seen."

"Wow. What a good reason to behave like a complete asshole. So did it work?"

Declan doesn't meet his eyes. "Matthew's still asleep."

Disappointment again, but this time less violent than before. Ronan is getting used to failure. "Did he move, at least?"

Declan apparently finds the shit-stained floor of the barn extremely interesting. "I don't know."

Ronan stares. "You don't know?"

"Maybe if you _told us_ what you were doing we would have been watching him."

"What else do you have to do besides watch him?" Ronan demands. "You're only good for one fucking thing and you can't even get that right."

Declan looks up suddenly. His whole face is tight with anger, as if someone had taken his features and scrunched them together very tightly. 

"I'm not having this discussion any longer."

"Oh, really? It's not as if you ever did anything but talk."

"As much as I enjoy your riveting conversational skills, I have to head out of town."

"What for?"

"Something you wouldn't approve of."

Declan is meeting with some magical scumbags again. Maybe Ronan should imprison _him_ in a fucking dreamscape.

"You want to meet some criminal hot shot looking like _that_?" Ronan indicates Declan's less-than-well-groomed appearance.

Declan looks down at himself. "I didn't think you cared," he says as he tucks his shirt back in and smooths his hands over his rumpled pants. "I won't be gone too long. A few hours at most."

"Whatever. Just fuck off and throw money at this, I bet that'll do a whole lot of good."

Declan still looks pissed as hell. "Stop it, Ronan. Go and check up on Matthew. Parrish is waiting, I told him I'd send you in."

Ronan scowls at the wall as if he wanted to show it who's boss until he hears a sigh.

"All I'm asking is for you to go see the two people you actually like. Could you just _do it?_"

Ronan knows Declan won't give up, and he really wants him gone. "Oh, well, anything to make you happy." Declan keeps hovering, so Ronan pushes himself up off the floor, one hand falling in the straw-free space that used to have a cow in it, and stands up.

That must satisfy Declan. He strides away, and without turning back he addresses Ronan again. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

****

Ronan is alone again in the barn, and everything feels empty. Maybe he should really check up on Matthew (there's nothing to check up on – Matthew is still as death, always). Maybe he should really go and look for Adam (they will fight, he knows that deep in his bones, where hurt he doesn't want to acknowledge has found a home). He did promise to do that, after all. But he didn't say when exactly he would do it.

He should check on the cows first, make sure they're okay, before he tries again. He has to know they are okay even when he leaves them alone in the dream world.

Very slowly, he lies down again, this time touching nothing, and it feels oddly lonely as he lets himself slip into the dream. This part, at least, has gotten so much easier – it's as if body and mind are just waiting to slip away, to curl up in a world where there are no sleeping or angry brothers, no detached boyfriends.

There's the meadow again, and at first it seems dead, its strange colors like a faded black and white photograph. Ronan walks through the high grass, and then he sees it in the distance – the beginning of the forest from his second dream, and at the edge of the forest, three cows. He walks over and tries to pet one, but it seems to dissolve when he reaches for it, only to reappear some way off again, like a mirage.

Ronan smiles, for what feels like the first time in weeks. The cows are okay, living their weird dream life. It's not such a bad place to be a ghost cow. It's peaceful. Nicer in here than it is outside.

And now he's thinking about everything that's waiting for him out there, Matthew out of reach like another mirage, Declan and his judgment, Adam barely speaking to him, not letting Ronan get close to him, like he wishes he was somewhere else. Why did he even come home except – obligation, maybe, to help fix what Ronan screwed up, to not leave Matthew like that.

_Please_, he thinks, eyes shut in prayer, _if you're any better now, if any of this has been worth anything, give me something that will wake him up. I need to save him. Please. Succurre ei._

When he opens his eyes, he's still in the dream and there's a shallow stone dish in front of him, faint smoke scented with incense rising from it, the whole thing small enough to rest lightly in his palm. The trees and the grass and the cows and everything farther away are looking a little see-through, like they're starting to dissolve, leaving this one object behind, who knows how long until they're gone. There's no time to see if it works; he just grabs it and hopes.

He opens his eyes, almost no transition from dream to reality. The barn looks as colorless as the meadow in the grey light of the late morning. Even though the paralysis is as familiar as breathing by now, it still threatens to overwhelm Ronan as he lies there, completely helpless, unsure if maybe he let something else slip from that world to this, something dangerous.

He still waits for Declan to appear, even though he knows he won't. Declan doesn't know he went dreaming again. And maybe his useless liar of a brother stayed true to his word and fucked off to town, that would be typical. Declan can always be trusted at the most inconvenient moments.

By the time he can finally move again, Ronan's hyped up enough that he decides to check for dream creatures, first. He takes a rake from the wall, the censer held tight in his left hand, and ventures out into the grounds.

He takes his time outside, looking around thoroughly. It's nice weather, clear and cold, still and quiet in a way that reminds him of the meadow in his dream, like nothing bad could ever happen here because nothing could ever happen here.

He has to head back to the house eventually, to check that it's clear, to check on Matthew, even though he knows he's going to be right where he's always been, but maybe not for long, not if this incense works, not if Ronan's dreaming is worth anything.

He steps through the door to the house and sees Adam sprawled out on the ground in the hallway.

The air leaves Ronan's lungs. He runs over to him, drops to his knees, drops the rake, barely manages to set down the censer without breaking it.

"Adam!"

Adam doesn't move or respond. Ronan rolls him over. His eyes are shut. Ronan puts his entire hand on Adam's neck because he can't fucking remember where the pulse is supposed to be, but then he feels it, light and nervous, fluttering under his fingertips. Ronan takes a deep breath, weak all over with relief. 

"Adam –" but there's still no response, and a horrible thought comes to Ronan. He hasn't searched the house, there's no sign of the shotgun, what if _he brought something back_ and it caught Adam off guard because Ronan hadn't told him he was dreaming, wasn't supposed to be dreaming –

Ronan scrambles back up to his feet and grabs the rake. He frantically looks around, down the hallway, into the living room – he doesn't see anything but there's so much of the house he can't see – but searching would mean leaving Adam behind –

Ronan squats down to check Adam again. "Adam, come on, you got to get up –" Nothing. And then the thought sinks into his head that he can't actually see any injury on Adam, no open wounds from a night horror's claws or beak. Adam just has the same pale exhausted look he's had since he arrived. Whatever happened it's something hidden, and now Adam looks like Matthew, cut off from life, even if his heart is still beating. What could he have pulled out of that dream, that quiet cow afterlife, that would knock Adam out without leaving a mark on him?

"No." Ronan's heart is hammering, it wants to jump out of his chest, leave this useless body behind. "I didn't ask you to do anything to him."

Nothing responds to him.

It _can't_ be what happened to Matthew, it has to be something else – and just as Ronan thinks that, he sees it. When he put his hand on Adam's neck he must have touched his shirt, because it's slipped down a little, just hinting at Adam's shoulder, and the skin there is black and blue with bruises. Ronan runs his hands down Adam's arm, feels something weird under the fabric of his shirt. It feels like more fabric, wrapped tightly around Adam's arm. He doesn't know how something ended up under Adam's clothes and doesn't know at this point if Adam would even want Ronan to touch him, but he's got to fix this and then Adam can be as pissed off as he wants to be. So Ronan pushes the sleeve up, and there's the injury he was looking for, only it's under a wide swath of gauze which is staining red.

Something hurt Adam and then – bandaged him? And then left him here. It doesn't make any sense. What would do that, and what else would it do, he has to know what happened –

Ronan looks at the censer. There's only a little smoke coming from it now, the incense almost used up. He picks it up carefully. _Something that will wake him up_... Ronan needs to know what happened, what else is out here, what else might come and harm them all. But if it works, then he needs it for –

He doesn't even know if Matthew's okay. It hurts like hell but he gets up, leaves Adam behind and runs down the hall and up the stairs to Matthew's room faster than he's ever moved in his life. He looks in just long enough to tell that he's okay – that he's as okay as he's been in weeks anyway – and runs back, makes it three steps to the door before he stops.

He brought the censer with him.

He only has one, and barely, at that, the smoke now almost invisible to the eye, and there's two people he needs to wake up.

There's only one of those two that knows what happened here.

There's one of those two that he wants next to him if shit's about to hit the fan.

He runs back down to Adam's side and puts the censer to his nose, makes him breathe in the last of the smoke. He watches Adam's waxen face carefully as the censer burns off the last few traces of smoke and then goes out.

Nothing happens.

Every muscle in Ronan's body is coiled tight, waiting. He can't give up yet. _Please let it work –_

But no one listens to his prayer, and Adam remains as still as death. Ronan buries his face in his hands as the censer clatters to the floor, another useless dream, another creation that would never work.

He doesn't know how long he stays like that, as unmoving as Adam and Matthew in the silent house. If there's something out there to get him, now would be the time. Ronan doesn't think he'd put up much of a fight.

But then, after an eternity, Adam stirs and wakes up.

He tries to say Ronan's name but it barely comes out. The sound Ronan makes, startling and falling over and then scrambling back up, is a hundred times louder. Adam's hand reaches up weakly, seeking out comfort from him. Ronan catches it and intertwines their fingers, and it's a miracle, almost too much to bear, to have him back, to hold his slender hand close to his chest. Ronan forces words out even though his throat feels like it's closing up.

"What happened?"

Adam just shakes his head and tries to push himself up. He only manages to roll over onto his side, still grasping at Ronan's hand.

"Adam, you gotta tell me what did this to you. Is it still here?"

"Nothing did anything to me. I just fainted." Adam's voice is hoarse.

"What?"

"I was scrying."

"Scrying," Ronan says, flat.

Adam takes his hand away from Ronan's, and Ronan feels cold, then he pushes himself up into a sitting position. "I know you told me not to, but then, you weren't supposed to be dreaming."

"Just because I tell you the truth doesn't mean I'm too stupid to tell when you're lying. There's no way you were scrying _standing up in the middle of the hall_." Adam wouldn't have made the mistake of leaning on the thing he was trying to make disappear.

"Oh, so now you're not only an expert on _when_ I should be allowed to scry, you also know _how_ I should do it."

"I know you didn't get _this_ from scrying." Adam's sleeve has slipped back down but Ronan yanks it back up, and Adam recoils away and then winces, like pulling away from Ronan hurt, or like Ronan hurt him. Ronan lets go of the fabric, pulls his fist away from Adam.

It takes Adam a moment to find his words. He doesn't look at Ronan when he speaks. "There was an accident. I fell and hurt myself, and then I bandaged it, because I can take care of myself."

"And that was before you started scrying."

"Yes." Adam's voice is toneless.

"That's the best you can come up with?"

But of course even an exhausted, defeated Adam won't back down. "I've been feeling light-headed lately. The doctor thinks it's stress."

"Right. And those bruises all over your shoulder, those are from _stress_ too. Or did you get them from that little scrying accident?"

Adam swallows and pulls his shirt up to cover the bruises. He clearly thought Ronan still didn't know about those, but now he's just adapting his lie as he goes along. 

"Yeah, _strangely_ enough, can't think what the hell I'd have to be stressed about right now." He's holding himself up so tightly, and it makes Ronan think of Adam tensing up under his hand last night – and of course, Adam wouldn't have bruises that color from a fall that happened in the last hour. Ronan's fear turns to anger, at Adam, at himself for being so naive.

"You had those last night. That's why you didn't want me to touch you."

"I was _tired_, which I told you yesterday."

"But your shoulder was fucked up already." He states it like a fact. It doesn't bear arguing, not anymore.

Adam hesitates, but then he nods.

"Why didn't you just say so?"

"Because I knew you'd freak out! You're stressed, I'm stressed, making the situation _more stressful_ isn't going to help."

"So you've just be fainting and falling over and hurting yourself and you just figured, this is fine?"

"I'm handling it." It's curt and final and sounds too much like what Adam used to say to Gansey.

"Sure, in the last hour you cut your arm open and then passed out on the floor, you're handling it great." Ronan's heart seizes up, his mouth moving faster than his brain. Adam passed out while Ronan was out in the barns, hurt himself not long before that; while Ronan was out in the barns –

"How did you know I was dreaming?"

"You _told_ me, weeks ago –"

"No. Just now. You said I wasn't supposed to be dreaming. So _how did you know that I was_."

Adam doesn't say anything.

"Declan said you felt it."

Adam winces. "That's not –"

"Don't lie to me."

Adam looks absolutely miserable. When he speaks, he sounds resigned, as if he had finally given up and decided to give Ronan what he wants. "Cabeswater isn't used to things getting put back into it. If your body did something it never did before, you'd try to get someone's attention, too. You'd ask for help."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I feel it, Ronan. When you put something back into the dreams, back into Cabeswater, I felt like there was something...in me, that didn't belong there." 

"You said this was worth trying. You told me to do this –"

"It is helping, I think, it's just – it's like going to the doctor for a shot, it hurts but then you're better off in the long run."

Adam is cradling his injured arm, and Ronan points at it. "_That's_ not a fucking flu shot."

"Cabeswater isn't smart in the way that people are, okay, it doesn't think like that. It's in pain and it's having to do things that it can't do on its own. It's just been trying to get my attention so I can help."

"How is any of this helping?"

"I'm not sure yet, but we're having a bigger effect since you started putting things back into dreams –"

There's more, and some part of Ronan would like to run, to never find out the whole truth. But he has to know. "So what _effect_ was it having before? How long has this been happening?"

"The whole time, Ronan. Since Matthew fell asleep."

"So you've been – what was it, _light-headed_" – Adam looks away, yeah, that was a euphemism – "for weeks, and you knew I was causing it, and you never told me." It's not a question.

"You would have stopped."

"Of course I would have fucking stopped!"

"Well you _shouldn't_. This is about Matthew. You need to do everything in your power to save him."

Ronan snaps. "He's my brother, I know I need to save him, but I'm not going to hurt _you_ to do it!"

Adam is calm in a dangerous way now, Ronan's anger just glancing off him, his eyes cold. "I know what I can handle and it's a lot more than just passing out a few times."

"_That_ didn't happen because you passed out," and Adam clams up, stops cradling his arm. "So how did it happen?"

"I don't want to tell you."

"If you can _handle_ it you can handle telling me."

Adam shuts his eyes, and there's no defiance or bravado when he speaks next. Ronan thinks he preferred the defiance. "Cabeswater isn't a person. It's very direct in its problem solving. It knew there was something foreign _inside of us_ and it wanted to get it out. So it grabbed a knife off the table in front of me."

Ronan's voice sounds strange to his own ears. "It made you stab yourself in the arm."

Adam doesn't respond. He's looking at the wall in front of him like it's a thousand yards off.

"Say it."

"There was a struggle. Me against my hands." There's an odd little smile on Adam's face that isn't happy at all. "I must have scared the daylights out of Declan. He jumped in, and we deflected the knife so it only hit my arm."

"That's – that's how Cabeswater _gets your attention_, it makes you try to kill yourself –"

"It wouldn't have killed me." Adam says it with complete certainty; because Adam knows what would kill him and anything at all that's less than that isn't worth _bothering_ about. "It needs me. It's damaged and then it gets overwhelmed by these things you're asking it to do –"

Ronan doesn't know what part of him still operates his mouth, because it feels like most of him has retreated, away from the realization of what he's done. "I'm done asking it for things."

"No, you're not. I'm not going to be the reason you lose Matthew."

"I'm not going to be the reason you _die_." His voice breaks.

"Ronan –" Adam sounds startled. "Ronan, I'm fine, I can handle this –" He reaches up and brushes a thumb over Ronan's cheekbone, and Ronan becomes aware that there's tears running down his face. He wants to let Adam dry his face and lower his head down onto his bruised shoulder and comfort him for all of the pain that Ronan has carved into his body –

He jerks away and scrambles up, runs out of the house. He avoids the barn, runs through the quiet, dreamy grounds and ends up in a treehouse without remembering climbing up there. It's been years since they played out there as kids. The blankets and cushions that used to be out here for sleeping outside in summer are gone, but Ronan doesn't want to sleep, Ronan can't be comfortable. He curls up in there and freezes in place, his mind blank, wiped clean of all reflection. He can't think.

***

There's a car approaching.

He unwraps his arms, straightens his legs out, his muscles screaming at him. He doesn't know how long he was sitting curled up like that. Too long. It's dark outside.

Ronan scoots over to the window and he can see Declan's Volvo coming up the driveway, most of the way to the house. Coming back from his stupid pointless errand. But Declan is now Matthew's only option; Ronan himself has been taken off the board permanently.

He descends the treehouse ladder so fast he gives himself rope burn across both palms, dashes on cramped sore legs that trip him not once but twice crossing the field, but he gets to the driveway as Declan's getting out of the car.

"How'd it go?" He sounds hoarse, from running, from not talking, from how badly he needs this to work.

"Oh, now you're prepared to sink so low as to ask me for details?" Declan starts walking back to the house.

Ronan gets in his way and Declan comes up short. "Did you get it?" Declan doesn't respond; that's a no. "Did you get _anything_?"

Anger sparks in Declan's eyes, like the ignition switching an engine on. His hands are balled. "You've created a uniquely difficult problem, it might take me a while to find a fix for you."

He tries to sidestep Ronan to get into the house. Ronan moves to get in his way _again_, because Declan doesn't get to disengage, Declan doesn't get to make promises to Ronan and then not deliver on them and walk away scot-free, not when the stakes are Matthew's life. Declan stops, but he isn't looking at Ronan, like he should be; _eyes on your opponent_ was the first thing their father taught them. But Declan is looking past Ronan, at the house. There's a crease between his eyebrows. Worry.

"Let me inside."

_I scared Declan_, Adam had said, _we deflected the knife_ – Declan had saved Adam. Declan had saved Adam _from Ronan_, and he was trying to check on him now, was still looking out for Adam when Ronan had gotten distracted, and his anger doesn't turn like a key in the ignition, it explodes.

"Why? What do you think you're going to find?"

Declan knows it's an accusation, but he's pleading the fifth. "Assuming you kept your word while I was gone, nothing."

Ronan throws him against the side of the Volvo, holding him by the shirt. Declan's fight instincts come online; he raises his fists, but keeps holding back. "Get out of my way, Ronan."

"Make me. What, you won't punch your brother but you'll lie to him?"

"Oh, no, _lie_ to you, and have to listen to your sanctimonious bullshit? I would never."

Ronan jostles Declan, tightens his grip on his shirt. Declan's eyes dart back to the house, then to Ronan's face, then upwards, as if he were praying for patience. A futile prayer if there ever was one.

"If you mean not telling you something because I know you aren't mature enough to handle it," Declan continues, cruel, "then you're going to have to narrow it down."

Ronan throws a punch, Declan dodges and shoves into him hard enough to break away. Ronan's fist hits the car. He doesn't even register any pain.

"You _knew_. You watched Adam get hurt and then you _left_."

"When I left, Adam was bandaged and safe and waiting for his boyfriend to keep him company, so why don't _you_tell me where that went wrong?"

"I don't need to tell you shit. You hid this from me."

"Right, because it would have been so much better if we'd stayed up all night arguing about this –"

Declan stops, looking at Ronan. Ronan doesn't know what he sees on his face, but it gives him pause. Ronan's voice is flat when he speaks next.

"How long have you known?"

Declan pulls himself together, making an effort to brush this off. "What does it matter? A lie is a lie –"

Ronan tackles him to the ground.

"Ronan!" He hears Adam shout from a thousand miles away. He can't focus on that. Declan is too strong and too fast and knows all of his moves; he can't be distracted. Declan nearly throws him off as it is; Ronan finds his balance again, pulls back and clocks him.

Declan collapses down on the ground again for a second, but he's not going to stay down for long, Ronan pulls back again –

A hand closes around his wrist.

He pulls back further, fast, with a snarl, breaks out of the grip. The move turns his body far enough that he sees Adam, flinching in pain at the jerk on his bad shoulder.

Ronan freezes.

Declan manages to knock him off and scramble up to his feet, and it's the two of them, towering over Ronan with his face in the mud.

Adam's face is tight and unhappy. "Don't we have _enough_ to deal with already?"

Ronan pushes himself up off the ground. He doesn't bother to wipe the filth off his face.

"The two of you are dealing with everything just fine on your own," he says, "then you don't need me." He storms out.


	4. Chapter 4

Adam almost runs after Ronan when he storms off, but Ronan clearly doesn't want that, so he stays put. He doesn't need to chase after Ronan, he needs to have not driven him off in the first place. Gansey would have known better than to let him leave. There's no telling what he'll do now, consumed with guilt and anger.

Declan smoothes down his peacoat and heads into the house. Adam follows on autopilot. He doesn't know whether he should be impressed or disconcerted with how unaffected Declan seems, about this whole situation. The reddish skin around his eye where Ronan clocked him, where Adam knows a lovely bruise will soon bloom, looks completely out of place on him, a glitch in a picture of poise and perfect control.

"You know," Declan says, "for a while there I thought I was going to have something to be thankful for this year."

"I'm glad you can see some humor in this."

Declan sighs. "This isn't the first earth-shattering fight I've had with Ronan. After the tenth or twentieth time he cuts you out of his life you hardly even keep track anymore."

Adam knows he isn't doing a good job of hiding his desperation. "He'll never forgive us for this."

"He'll forgive you. You had your reasons."

"Because Ronan is so very prone to listening to reason?"

"Ronan is a child. He's throwing a tantrum. He'll calm down."

"He won't. And he won't do anything to save Matthew now, so that's on me, too."

Declan sounds more pissed than he's ever been with Adam. "Well, I finally see what you two have in common. Of course everything is your fault, no one else had any agency in this at all."

Adam would like to be angry, too, but somehow, he can't muster the energy anymore. There's a gaping emptiness in his chest. He doesn't know if it's left over from Cabeswater's little intervention or if he has just spent too much of himself of late, if he has nothing left to give.

"I pretty much forced you to go along with this."

Declan's laugh is bitter. "It's not like I put up much of a fight. I would have done the same thing in your place."

It sounds both defeated and indignant. Declan is pale, holding himself a little too straight, like he's in physical discomfort too. Adam hadn't bothered to check if Declan was okay before he left, had just let him bandage his arm and head out to talk to Ronan.

"You're hurt."

Declan looks nonplussed. "What?"

"I hurt you when I attacked you." His stomach churns at the memory: Declan grabbing the knife, deflecting it away from Adam's chest; the sudden sharp pain in his arm, and no time to figure out how badly he'd injured himself because he'd _lunged _at Declan; wrestling ferociously, Adam needing to break free from Declan even if it meant going through him, out of control until Declan got him in a suffocating hold –

"Christ, Parrish," Declan breaks into his reflection. "Knock it off."

"I could have killed you."

"But you didn't. All your little Exorcist-stunt did was give me a chance to practice my boxing."

It sounds too unconcerned. Adam remembers the look of utter shock on Declan's face when he attacked. "I don't know if I believe you."

"Right. You shouldn't. Just like I shouldn't have believed you when you said you could handle this."

Adam doesn't want to take that, but he can't fight with Declan too. "I don't know what to do."

Declan clearly doesn't have an answer for him. Adam stares at the wall morosely. He almost wishes that something would happen, just to know that Ronan is still trying, that Ronan hasn't given up on Matthew because of him. But Adam knows he won't do anything. They have to find another way.

"Is it too much to hope that you found anything?"

Declan sighs. "Esoteric gibberish. Not worth that drive. Certainly not worth Ronan's outburst."

"Can you repeat the gibberish?"

"He said he had nothing to give me because there was no object that could save Matthew. That magic like that didn't work that way."

If he was hoping for some kind of hidden wisdom that Declan had missed, that wasn't it. "How does he think it works, then?"

"Just something about magic having a price, but not one I could pay him. Of course, he still wanted to get paid."

Adam's mind flashes back to how this started, for him, _I will be your hands, I will be your eyes_, the price he paid, the thing he valued most – 

Declan shakes his arm. Adam flinches and Declan immediately lets go, a trifle guilty. Apparently he had forgotten about the messed up shoulder. But so had Adam, for a moment there, his intuition racing along well-trodden paths to show him what to do.

*What's with the thousand-yard stare, Parrish?"

"Nothing. I'll go look for Ronan," and Adam is out the door before Declan can accuse him of being evasive.

*****

He doesn't know where Ronan is, but he takes precautions not to run into him, goes the long way around the Barns to get to the nearby trees of Cabeswater. He only just walked through the grounds earlier this afternoon, desperately looking for Ronan, but it strikes him all over again how beautiful this landscape is, how the deep green of Cabeswater draws him in, lush and mysterious. Adam stops under a big willow just at the edge of the forest, where the pale light of dusk isn't yet swallowed by the canopy, where magic isn't yet dense enough to make itself felt in strange changes of the seasons and sudden storms, isn't thick enough that the corruption running through its heart is so obvious. There's a little pond next to the tree. Adam falls to his knees among the exposed roots.

It doesn't take much for his mind to wander, as if it had just been waiting to abandon his tired and bruised form. Cabeswater welcomes him, for the first time in weeks – he feels leaves caressing him, as if in apology for everything that it's done to him. Adam relaxes into it, and it's like it used to be, a perfect union, Cabeswater and him both protected and protector at once. He revels in it. He missed it.

Then he feels the magic tug at his consciousness, feels the moss under his fingers, and he remembers what he has to do. What he has to give.

He doesn't speak, exactly, but he hears his thoughts echo through Cabeswater.

_I give you my magic._

He waits for the thunder, the earthquake, for everything to change. For this connection that he loves so much, even when it hurts him, to disappear.

Nothing happens.

The moss under his fingers is wet and cold, and Adam grips it tightly as he hovers between this reality and that. This makes sense, his magic in exchange for Matthew, one thing taken from Cabeswater and one thing given; it has to work.

Except it doesn't.

If this isn't a big enough sacrifice –

_I give you my future._

He pictures it, clear enough Cabeswater will see it too, leaving school and coming back to Henrietta, to stay here with Cabeswater and tend to it, to be on the leyline all the time. The thought hurts like he's torn a part of himself out to die on the ground next to him, like Cabeswater had succeeded in cutting into his chest – and it doesn't affect Cabeswater at all.

That isn't the biggest sacrifice he can make, and he knows it, because there's one thing that he's been afraid of losing all day.

_I give you my heart. _

It's a sacrifice to even think about it, leaving Ronan, but if that's what it takes to fix this, if he can just _fix this_ –

Cabeswater gently touches him with its magic, but it doesn't otherwise react. It isn't going to take anything he has to offer. With a cold feeling of dread, Adam snaps out of his daze, and the answer is in his mind, clear as day.

He isn't the one who can make this sacrifice.

****

_I think I have an idea – _

_There has to be a sacrifice. There has to be something you sacrifice, to get Matthew back – _

_I know what has to happen, I sacrificed to Cabeswater once, but it won't let me do it again –_

_I don't know what you have to give up, but we can figure it out together._

Adam tries out the words during the walk back to the house. Nothing sounds right, everything sounds like it will just piss Ronan off more. It's all just more ways of forcing him to do things he would never want to do. Adam wraps his arms around himself, his good arm supporting the injured one. It doesn't stop him from shivering in the rapidly cooling air.

He's almost at the house when he becomes aware of steps following him. Some part of him wants to run and hide, and he isn't sure if it's fear of dream monsters or fear of confronting Ronan that gives him that impulse. He isn't sure he wants to know.

"Ronan?"

Ronan freezes, as if he hadn't been aware of Adam walking a few feet in front of him. He looks absolutely wretched. In a better world, Adam could go to him, hold him until the haunted look disappears from his face. But Ronan has made it clear he doesn't want any of that from Adam. He tries to fall back on being focused, practical, but all the words he'd laid out have disappeared.

"What were you doing outside?" Ronan's voice is low.

Adam swallows. "Looking for you." It's only a little sideways from the truth, given that he'd spent much of the afternoon doing just that.

"Congratulations, you found me."

Again, Adam comes up short for words. He's still cold, so he turns and opens the door to the house. Maybe a more comfortable setting will make this conversation easier. Ronan follows him inside; at least he has that much going for him.

The living room is empty. Declan might already be sleeping in one of the rooms upstairs. Adam is relieved. He could probably count on Declan's support, but that would just rile Ronan up more.

Adam goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Ronan comes too, but pours himself a whiskey, staring combatively at Adam. Adam doesn't challenge him directly and tries not to let his nerves show. This is fine. Ronan has it under control.

Ronan tosses back the whiskey and pours another. "Have you had anything to eat?"

It's not what Adam expected. Mutely, he shakes his head; eating was out of the question, with his stomach so twisted.

Ronan goes to the fridge, takes out a bowl and pours the contents into a pan. He faces away from Adam, but the silence is almost companionable, with the sizzling of the pan providing a calming backdrop. Adam sits down at the table and loses track of time in his exhaustion. He doesn't know how long it is before there's a plate of beans in front of him and Ronan sits down too. He hasn't prepared a plate for himself.

"Aren't you eating?"

"Not hungry."

Adam's mouth is dry. He thinks of the whiskey, of Ronan gone for hours, probably huddled up somewhere. He can't have eaten since breakfast. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"No, Parrish, it's not. But apparently all my ideas are shitty lately."

Ronan's sudden anger throws a spark, and that's all it takes for Adam to start burning too. He was never Gansey, all endless patience for Ronan's self-destruction. "So that's your excuse to go on making stupid decisions?"

Ronan's lips are tight. "Seems like it."

"You need to keep it together."

"For what, so I can _keep trying_?" Ronan sneers. "You know I won't do that."

"We can try something different, then." That makes Ronan curious. He studies Adam, and Adam tries to take advantage of the unexpected ceasefire. He ploughs on. "I figured something out. I think this is like my bond to Cabeswater."

Ronan's face darkens. "What do you mean?"

"I paid a price for my bond. I think we need an exchange here, too. Cabeswater is… it's perfectly balanced, by itself, and Matthew's part of it, because he's made from its magic. So for Cabeswater to be able to let him go, we need to give it something that makes up for that loss. Something that restores the balance."

Ronan seems to consider this. And then he latches onto the precise thing that Adam doesn't want him to ask about. "And you just had that idea, all of a sudden?"

Adam could lie. Everything was fine when he'd been lying; it was the truth almost broke Ronan. 

He hasn't touched his plate. To gain some time, he picks up his fork. Ronan watches him with rapt attention, as if Adam eating were the most important thing in his life. Adam's stomach curdles. He puts the fork down again.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

There's a bitter taste in Adam's mouth. "Like I need to be looked after for the most basic things."

Ronan gets up abruptly and pours himself a third whiskey. He chucks it back in one go. Adam can tell that he's biting his tongue. It pisses him off.

"Just say it, Ronan."

"Say what? That you _do _need to be looked after when you've been killing yourself for weeks?"

"I was never in real danger. Cabeswater wouldn't have let anything really bad happen to me."

"Oh, so falling down stairs and randomly keeling over doesn't count as _bad_, in Adam Parrish's book. Of course."

"No, it doesn't. I know how much I can handle, okay?"

Ronan's laugh is entirely void of joy. "Yeah, obviously. That's why you cut yourself open."

He indicates Adam's arm, where his sleeve has ridden up a bit. The bandage is soaked with blood again. Shit.

When he looks back up, Ronan's face has softened. "Let me take a look at that."

Adam doesn't know how to refuse him. Ronan is impossible. "Okay, if you eat half of this food."

"Parrish, ever the tough negotiator." There's a wry little smile on Ronan's face, then he disappears. A moment later he's back with a first aid case. He carefully unwraps the bandage Declan had done, wincing painfully when he sees the gash. Adam averts his gaze. The disinfectant burns, even as Ronan dresses Adam's arm again. His touch is feather light, and when he's done, he brushes Adam's hand with his and leaves it there, his calloused fingers warm on top of Adam's.

Adam looks back up at him, but Ronan doesn't meet his eyes; his gaze lingers on Adam's dislocated shoulder, like all he can see of him are the bruises hidden under the shirt. There's too much pity in his eyes.

"Stop it," Adam snaps.

Ronan startles. "What?"

"Stop looking at me like that."

Ronan's anger bubbles up again, as if it were just waiting until Adam gave it a reason to resurface. "You want me to pretend you aren't bruised and bleeding because of me? I'm done with that shit, Parrish."

"I _made a choice_, Ronan, you don't get to take that away from me."

"Doing nothing while someone hurts you isn't a choice, it's cowardice. I told you, I am fucking _done with it_!"

Ronan is yelling, and it's unfair. It's all of Gansey's old arguments all over again, cutting deeper when he'd stopped expecting them, when it's Ronan making them. Ronan wasn't supposed to think of him that way. Adam was supposed to have left this judgment behind, and with it the ugly gift his father had given him, the quick cruelty. But here it is again, fresh and ready to slice open anything in its way.

"Then maybe we should be done with each other."

At some point, they both stood up. Adam didn't notice when, but now they're up in each other's faces, breathing heavily – until Adam's words sink through to Ronan, and he deflates. His voice is flat when he speaks.

"What do you mean."

There's a high humming sound in Adam's ears. It didn't work for Adam, but he was the wrong person to make that sacrifice. Maybe he knew, subconsciously, and that's why he's spent weeks tearing down this thing between him and Ronan. "Maybe that's what we need to give up."

Ronan slumps into a chair. He looks shell-shocked. "That's the sacrifice you were talking about?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Why would _that_ be the sacrifice, of all things?"

"It needs to be something truly important to you. Something you cling to with all your heart. I don't know, Ronan."

Ronan's eyes look feverish. "No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"You said it's about balance. Cabeswater doesn't have anything to do with _us_. If Cabeswater needs something in order to let go of Matthew, it should be something magical."

Adam's mind is sluggish and exhausted. "But I tried that."

"_What?_"

Shit. So much for being more truthful. Ronan is right back to furious. "What the _fuck_, Parrish?"

There's no escaping it. "I tried sacrificing something earlier. My magic."

For a moment, Ronan is too stunned to respond. Adam thinks, spitefully, that it's a nice moment. Then he presses out: "How dare you."

"It's my magic, I can decide what I do with it."

Ronan closes his eyes, and this sudden deadly calm is almost worse than the anger. "You of all people should know what this feels like. Having someone try and take away your choices like that."

Adam concentrates on breathing steadily. "I'm trying to help."

"By disrespecting everything I want? By lying to me?" Ronan sounds broken, and Adam can't take it anymore.

"At least I'm doing something! You're doing nothing and using me as an excuse for your failure!"

Ronan slams his hand into the chair in front of him. The chair goes flying and clatters loudly when it hits the stove to their left. Adam flinches back violently. Right away, Ronan seems to come back to himself, and there's so much guilt on his face, so much worry for Adam as he reaches his hand out to touch him – 

Adam turns around, practically runs up the stairs, past a confused, sleepy Declan, and the bedroom door falls closed behind him. He sits on the bed, breathing heavily, until his thoughts clear again. Maybe he should go back down, talk to Ronan. But Ronan seemed so ashamed – maybe he needs some time by himself. Better to leave him alone, to talk when he comes up, when he's ready to see Adam again. By then, maybe Adam will have stopped shaking.

Slowly, Adam gets up and puts on his pajamas. He can hear pans clattering in the kitchen, but no talk – either Declan has decided not to confront Ronan, or the brothers are, for once, peacefully working side by side. He hopes Ronan has eaten, like he promised he would.

Adam gets into bed. It isn't cold. He wills his body to obey him, to relax. He reaches out to Cabeswater, and the soft touch of its magic soothes him a bit. Cabeswater is still upset, but since Ronan has stopped forcing things into and out of it, it's had a chance to calm down and breathe through its pain.

Adam waits for a soft rap on the door, but it doesn't come. The minutes go by, viscous and dark.

Ronan isn't coming.

****

Adam wakes up earlier than he'd like to; he's used to leaving a window open when he sleeps at the Barns, to fill the room with fresh air that smells like grass and trees and rain even when it hasn't rained – except without Ronan in bed next to him doing his best impression of a space heater, the room is freezing. He wakes up at dawn, too tired to get another blanket, too cold to fall back asleep without one. He watches the sky grow light and then drags himself up from the bed and out of the room.

He runs into Declan in the hallway, leaning against the wall like he's waiting for someone. Odds are fifty/fifty that it's Adam, since there's only three of them awake on the property. Adam tries to get Declan's attention, but he just flicks his eyes at Adam and goes back to staring across the hall like he's really engrossed in the family portrait that's hanging there.

When Adam gets closer he realizes that the glass in the picture frame is reflecting a view through the kitchen door, down the hall and behind Declan's back. Ronan is leaning against the counter, scowling out a window. His posture is identical to Declan's.

For a moment, with both of them in his field of vision, Adam thinks _I can't do this. No one can do this, there's no working with either of them, let alone both of them, haven't I lived through enough unsolvable dilemmas yet?_

Declan waves an arm out with a flourish: _after you_.

He's right; Ronan isn't going to want to see either of them, but Adam's not the one with a black eye.

What's one more dilemma?

Adam enters the kitchen in time to see Ronan chug down an entire coffee mug in one go. But it can't have been coffee, as fast as Ronan drank it. _Whiskey_, Adam thinks, unwilling and unavoidable.

Except then Ronan pours more coffee from the pot into the mug and tops it off with a lot of milk. The relief only lasts a moment.

"Have you eaten anything?" Adam asks him.

"Nope," Ronan says. "You're on your own for breakfast. I'm sure some of Declan's fancy pastries are still around."

"I was thinking about your stomach lining."

"That's not very sexy. I guess that explains why you don't want to fuck anymore."

Adam resists the urge to respond. Ronan is infuriating: that isn't anything he didn't know.

When he doesn't get a rise out of Adam, Ronan drinks half of his new cup of coffee in one go, then sets it onto the table so violently that a little spills over, soiling the light wood. Adam's patience frays.

"So your plan is just to never sleep again."

"I figure Declan can hook me up with a cocaine dealer." Ronan is being deliberately provocative, and_ fuck_, it's not like Adam got much sleep last night either, like Adam's stomach has been doing so hot. It's hard not to give in to Ronan's attempts to start a fight even when he's at his best.

"How far into sleep deprivation do you need to get before you realize how stupid that is? When you start making dumb mistakes? When you start hallucinating? Or are you going to wait until you're oozing black crap again, that's going to help Matthew so much –"

"God, Parrish, isn't it too early for this racket?" Declan walks into the kitchen a split second before Ronan could say something that Adam would never be able to unhear. "Can we try to have a _productive_ conversation?"

Adam opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He is caught between astonishment and anger. Declan ought to be on his side about this. Declan _is _on his side about this, anxiously watching his brother overdose on caffeine and trying to figure out what to do about it –

Ronan snipes at Declan, who scoffs back at him; Adam isn't fully listening, but he has an extensive library of Lynch arguments to compare it to, and this is minor, almost good-natured, not at all like the ugly darkness that Adam's and Ronan's fight had been heading towards. It dawns on him: Declan picked a fight with Adam _to stop Adam and Ronan from fighting each other_, like his plan is to unite them both in being pissed off at him.

Knowing that's what he wants doesn't stop Adam from being pissed off at him.

"Parrish, I'm talking to you."

Adam realises he zoned out completely, and now has two Lynch brothers staring at him with near-identical expressions of resentment. It would be funny, on a different day, in a different life.

"You tried sacrificing your magic?"

He clearly missed out on some vital parts of this conversation. So much for good-natured. "I had to try something."

Ronan still looks sharp and angry, but Declan's expression turns thoughtful. "It's a lead, at least. Maybe you could try sacrificing something else?"

Adam is saved from having to lie his way through this, because Ronan looks absolutely appalled. "Maybe _you_ should try sacrificing something. Your ugly car, or whatever it is that someone without a soul loves."

"I think that wouldn't work," Adam says. "I think it has to be your sacrifice, Ronan."

Declan nods slowly; oh great, _now_ he has Adam's back again. "The person who wants to fix their mistake has to pay the price. Makes sense."

Ronan looks mutinous. "This is about paying for my mistakes? Then let me just do the honors and slit my wrists. Bet that knife you cut yourself up with yesterday is still around."

It isn't funny at all. Adam remembers it too well, the desperation in Gansey's voice the next day at school, Ronan in intensive care, Adam unable to be there for any of them –

Dreams. Dreams had almost killed Ronan back then, his powers both amazing and terrible. "Do you think _you_ could sacrifice your magic?"

Ronan's eyes light up even as his voice remains doubtful. Some part of him still hates his gift, rejoices at the idea of parting with it. "I don't know how to do that. I don't talk to Cabeswater when I'm awake, I can't connect to it the way you do."

"Maybe you have to do it while you're dreaming."

"And hope that this time you stab Declan instead of yourself?"

"He already tried that." Declan's voice is dry, and Adam grimaces.

Ronan looks from Declan to Adam, apparently trying to figure out if they are messing with him. Adam doesn't wait for him to ask a question.

"I don't think that would happen. You wouldn't be putting something into Cabeswater, right? Or at least nothing physical."

Ronan doesn't look convinced. "What if you're wrong?"

"What if I try to scry while you do this? If something happened to me you'd know it. And maybe I could talk to Cabeswater on your behalf."

Ronan scowls for a moment longer, then he's out of options. They're all out of options. "Okay. But let's take this slow."

****

Ronan lies down on the couch, knees up over the arm, taking up as much space as possible. Declan digs up a candle for Adam to scry with, one of the wealth of treasures in Niall's old study, a dream thing whose flame never burns out. Adam sits on the floor in front of Ronan, ready for him to fall asleep.

Except Ronan doesn't fall asleep. He shuts his eyes; after a few minutes pass, he sighs and squirms, rolls onto his side, rolls onto his back again. It's hard to watch him in all his barely contained nervous energy, never lying still long enough for Adam to hope that he's sliding into dreams.

When it's closing in on half an hour and they're all still awake and lucid, Adam says, "Look, if you don't want to do this –"

Ronan snaps: "Don't tell me I don't have to. I know what I have to do."

"Any time, then," Declan says.

"I drank three pots of coffee, it's a little hard to fall asleep while you're all _watching me_."

"Do you want to take something?"

Clearly this is the day where Adam is more pissed at Declan than at Ronan. It's not much of an improvement. "He has too much caffeine in his system," Adam says, scathing. "We're not going to help by adding _other substances_."

But Ronan looks tempted, eyes open and propped up on one elbow. Declan keeps talking to him as if Adam hadn't spoken. "I can get you some of my sleeping pills –"

Ronan sneers at him. "I don't need any of your drugs."

Adam smirks at the unexpected victory, except that leaves them right back where they started, stymied by insomnia. He gets up off the floor and walks to the couch, shoves Ronan's shoulder up high enough that he can sit on the end of the couch. Ronan cranes his neck around, looking sideways at Adam in confusion.

"Lie down." He looks up at Declan. "Stop hovering. Read a book or something."

Declan sits down on a chair in the corner of the room, scrolling on his phone. Ronan's still halfway propped up on his elbow, like he isn't willing to lie down, or isn't sure he can.

"Lie down, okay?" This time it's a question, soft and hesitant.

Ronan lies down, resting his head on Adam's lap. 

"Just breathe. It's just falling asleep, it's not hard."

Ronan snorts but closes his eyes. Adam places a hand on his chest lightly and lets it rise and fall with Ronan's breath. He feels Ronan relax in slow increments, but it's a long time before he thinks Ronan is really asleep, his face relaxed, almost serene. He's hesitant to say Ronan's name, to say anything. But he has to be sure, so he lifts his hand up slowly and draws his thumb over Ronan's cheek, barely touching. Ronan doesn't react.

So Ronan is in a dream now, in what might be his _last_ dream. Adam runs a finger across Ronan's brows, along his jaw, over his lips, like he's giving Ronan one extra moment – giving them both one extra moment, maybe. He loves Ronan with or without magic. The dreaming doesn't matter to Adam, but it matters to Ronan, and he aches to think about what this is going to cost him, how much of Ronan he is going to get back.

_Enough_, he thinks, and he puts his hand back over Ronan's heart.

When he looks up Declan is already watching him; he nods. Declan sets his phone down, on alert.

Adam turns his gaze to the candle, lets his eyes unfocus and falls into it. He feels Ronan's steady heartbeat under his hand, accompanying him all the way to the other side.

He's on the couch, his hand falling as Ronan exhales, but he's also in Cabeswater; he knows it's Cabeswater even though he can't see more than ten feet in front of his face. Fog wraps around everything, the light strained and thin. A chill runs up his back, and there's a faint sense of dread welling up inside him. He walks carefully across the indistinct forest floor, rests a hand on the bark of a nearby tree to hold his balance – but then he just feels – _sad_.

"Is he here?" he says, not even a whisper, just breathing the words. "Cabeswater, where is he?"

There's nothing, and then there's a slight breeze that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up, that causes tiny little eddies in the fog and makes a barely visible path for him to follow.

He walks through the fog, air clearing briefly in front of him and clouding up again behind him, until he finds Ronan, hunched over a pond and frowning. Ronan tenses up as he hears him approach, but doesn't look up.

Fear seeps back through Adam's skin: not the quiet uneasiness from Cabeswater's shuttered welcome, but a scrambling howling panic, only barely contained.

"Lynch?" he asks, uncertain.

"I haven't done anything yet," Ronan snaps. "I was waiting for you."

"I know."

Ronan looks at him, for one split second, like it's too much. Adam doesn't blame him; he can ignore his bruised shoulder and gashed arm and scraped chest now, all far away on the couch, but there is no ignoring the fear and the sadness and under them both the _loneliness _weighing down on him, turning his bones into ice. He can't imagine how this feels for Ronan – or he can, he knows exactly how it feels, and he hates it.

"It's not – nothing's happening," Ronan says.

"What are you trying?"

"The same shit I always do. Nothing's happening."

"This isn't really business as usual."

"I _know _that!" Ronan gives him one more second of searing of eye contact.

"Maybe it would help if you just – talk," Adam finishes, pathetic.

Ronan stares out over the pond again and bows his head, supplicating himself.

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen," he says, voice rough and low. "I wasn't trying to hurt you. I didn't even know I _could_. I didn't ask. I took something away and I don't know how to give it back, but I'll give you anything I can to fix this. You can take the dreaming away from me, if that will fix this, if that will fix him. Please. _Amabo te._"

He exhales, and his breath condenses like the fog in the freezing air around him. Everything is very very quiet.

Ronan says, faltering, "Maybe it – maybe I have to wake up, first."

"Ronan – "

"Maybe it's working right now, how would we know – "

"I would know."

"This was _your_ idea!"

"I still think we're on the right track," Adam says.

"The right _track?_ What fucking good does that do us? What else _is_ there besides this? Something magic, something important – "

"It's not just that, it's – " Adam listens to the silence. In the heart of this fractured weakened Cabeswater, it's easier to get a sense of what it's trying to tell him. "The dreaming comes from Cabeswater, but Cabeswater comes from the dreaming. They're too much alike without being the same thing. They work together but you can't put one inside of the other. We need – spare parts," and he grimaces at the inelegance of his words.

"Where the hell are we supposed to get spare parts when it won't let me dream anything new and it doesn't want anything we have?"

Adam's fingertips have gone numb; there's an unpleasant tingling across his palms that says that it's going to spread, soon.

"We don't know that yet," he says. "But we know more than we did. That's something."

Ronan takes no comfort from this. He looks back at the pond, and there's longing in his eyes.

"We'll keep working," Adam insists. "But it's time to wake up now." He holds out one frozen hand toward Ronan, to help him stand back up. Ronan doesn't move. "_Amabo te_, Ronan."

Ronan slowly reaches for his hand and pulls himself up. His hand is so hot; Adam's skin catches fire –

Everything shifts all at once, that far distant candle flame coming into focus like a camera's zooming in on it, the fog and the forest falling away, and then he's back on the couch with Ronan's head in his lap and Ronan's eyes are fluttering open – not frozen in place, because nothing was exchanged.

Ronan rolls onto his side and pushes himself up off the couch. In a second he's kneeling, his arm against Adam's side and their faces so close.

Adam almost wonders if maybe _he _brought something back with him from the dream. He still feels like he's freezing, surrounded on all sides by Ronan's misery made manifest.

"Ronan – " His voice cracks.

Ronan surges forward. His arms circle around Adam's neck and his face presses against Adam's shoulder. Adam brings his hands to Ronan's back and pulls him in closer, until Ronan is straddling him, until they're pressed chest to chest. Ronan's breath is hot in his ear and his skin is searing, even through their clothes. Adam clings to him anyway and doesn't let go.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, _shit_, I'm sorry," Adam says. "I should have told you. This was just the one thing that I could control in the whole situation, I needed that." He reconsiders, the truth of Ronan against him burning away delusion. "I _wanted_ that."

"My fucking control freak," and Adam chokes up; this is a horrible term of endearment, but it _is_ a term of endearment, and it's been so long since Ronan called him anything like that. "I need to be in control of what I do to you."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Fuck, but – " Ronan shrugs it off, like now that Adam _has_ apologized Ronan doesn't need to hear it anymore. "I started this whole clusterfuck and everything I've done just made it worse. I should have told you right away and let you help, you would've solved this weeks ago. I just – I screwed up _so bad._"

"Hey, we'll solve it now."

Ronan breathes, shakily. "What if we don't? Mom and dad are gone already. Now Matthew's asleep, you're so far away, what if I just keep losing people until I end up alone in an empty house?"

"_That won't happen._" Adam digs his fingers in, grasping at Ronan. He hates how badly he must have failed, for Ronan to think something like that. The old guilt comes back, the guilt at having left at all.

Ronan tenses, like he's getting ready for a fight.

"Lynch?"

Ronan sits back, pulling away. His hands fall from Adam's shoulders and rest idly at his sides. He's not really trying to touch Adam, looking past him instead, at the candle on the floor that still burns brightly, and Adam knows what he's going to say before he says it.

"I know where we can get some spare parts."

****

"Yes, a minivan. As soon as possible." Declan is on the phone, his voice all business. He's listening to the person on the other side, and his face does something displeased.

"That's the soonest we can get it? This afternoon isn't possible?"

Another pause. Ronan has his back to Adam, looking out the window, tension in the line of his shoulders.

"I can offer you a very good deal if you make it happen sooner."

Adam can basically feel the unhappiness and annoyance radiating off Ronan. It would be funny, Declan trying to bribe someone to give him a _minivan_, except nothing about this situation is funny in the least.

"Okay." Declan sounds resigned. "Tomorrow morning, then."

Ronan doesn't give him a break. He snaps as soon as Declan lowers his phone. "Your little mafia act didn't work. Maybe you should have threatened to send enforcers."

Adam interjects before this turns into another sibling argument. "So we can't move Matthew today."

Declan gives a minuscule shake of his head. "No, we can't. At least that gives us time to pack up some things."

Ronan is still itching for a fight, but his eyes are bleak. "You don't get this at all, do you? We're giving everything dad pulled out back to Cabeswater. The Barns is the sacrifice. You can't _pack it up_."

Declan meets Ronan's fire with a cold, haughty stare. "Not everything in here is stuff dad pulled out."

"And you think _you_ can tell the difference?"

Declan's hands clench, but he relaxes them again immediately with a little look in Adam's direction. "As a matter of fact, I can't. I was hoping Parrish could help me with that. While you do whatever you need to do to prepare."

"I don't need to prepare," Ronan says. "This time I know what I'm doing."

There's a strange mix of joy and devastation on Declan's face. Adam averts his gaze. He doesn't understand Declan the way he understands Ronan, but he can tell that letting go of the Barns isn't easy for him, either.

"Okay. So Parrish and I will take care of this. If nothing else we need to get all the important documents out of dad's study."

Ronan opens his mouth, but then he just nods, for once taking Declan's words for what they probably are – an attempt to give Ronan time to process. He turns back to the window, arms crossed tightly.

Declan leads the way to Niall's study, while Adam follows, drinking in every inch that he can. The house is golden in the early afternoon, all the little objects scattered around it drowned in autumn light. Even with Niall and Aurora gone, this house feels full. Every trinket bears testimony to how alive, how vital the people who lived here had been. Adam didn't know them, but spending time here with Ronan has given him an intimate understanding of the abundance that Ronan grew up with, an abundance that gave Ronan his bottomless capacity for feeling, for loving, for giving love.

It's always been a little too much for Adam, a little too different from the trailer he grew up in and from the cheaply furnished dorm room he's claimed for himself now. But he has learned to love and cherish the Barns, almost like he cherishes Ronan, who seems like such a natural reflection of this place.

_Home_.

The word comes to his mind unbidden, and he turns it around carefully, looks at it from all angles. He doesn't quite let himself feel it. Not now that he's losing it. Not now that _Ronan_ is losing it. Adam's loss could never compare.

"Are you okay?" Apparently Declan has been watching him, discreet in a way that Ronan never is.

Adam nods. "I should ask you that. You grew up here."

Declan gives him a wry little smile. "And I left as soon as I could."

Adam can relate to that only too well, but hearing Declan say it gives him pause. He understands so little about Ronan's standoffish older brother, in the end. He considers whether he should probe deeper, but Declan doesn't give him the chance to.

"At any rate, you've spent a lot of time here."

Adam nods. "It's… I don't know how to say it."

"You don't have to." It's a way out, and Adam appreciates it. But he wants to find the words, hopes that voicing it will make it more manageable.

"You know how sometimes when something goes really well, an exam or something, and you happen to be somewhere specific when you get the good news, and then you feel that surge of happiness and accomplishment again whenever you go back to that place? That's how the Barns feel to me."

"That is very sweet." Declan smiles, and Adam can tell that it's genuine, despite everything Ronan would have to say on the matter. "Maybe it's good that some people will really grieve for this place. Remember it fondly."

This apparently exhausted Declan's quota of feelings for the day, because he opens a drawer in Niall's big old-fashioned desk and starts rummaging.

"Let's get to work."

****

They find a lockbox full of legal documents that aren't made from dream stuff, including Ronan's and Declan's birth certificates. Adam is able to identify what comes and doesn't come from dreams with absolute certainty, his magic sense reacting like some fine-tuned instrument. Declan boxes up the items that are both valuable and safe to take. There's fewer of those than Adam had expected. Niall wasn't shy about crafting treasures for himself.

As they make to leave the room, Declan looks back once more. There's something bitter around his mouth. His eyes roam over the hunting trophies, the shotguns on the wall, the shelves filled with dusty old books. Adam decides to give him space.

He clears his throat. "I'll go book a motel room."

Absentmindedly, Declan hands him his sleek mobile phone. "Thank you."

Adam is a little surprised at Declan just trusting him with his phone like that, but he takes it and goes back downstairs. Ronan is nowhere to be found, so he makes the phone call. Declan seems to have left everything on factory settings, no personal screensaver or background, no pattern lock. Maybe this is Declan's professional phone and he has another one hidden away somewhere. Or maybe this is just Declan's life, so functional and clean. A life like that would have very little in common with the place that they are about to sacrifice.

After a moment of hesitation Adam leaves Declan's phone on the living room table. Then he pulls out his own phone. It's blinking angrily because he has ignored it for so long. He sees Gansey's and Blue's names among the string of messages and swallows. All of this will have to be discussed, and he can already imagine their reactions: Blue enraged at their idiocy, Gansey pained and scared for them and trying (and failing) to be tactful about it. But now isn't the time, and he swipes away the alerts, opens the camera instead.

Through the lens, the house looks a bit like an empty film set, lit and staged for some tender scene at the end of a heartwarming movie. Adam wanders through the rooms downstairs, taking pictures. He documents the cozy nooks of the house, the piles of old magazines, the bagpipes on the wall, the impossible objects scattered around. He takes a picture of the kitchen, where Ronan told him to go find aluminum foil long ago, where they celebrated with their friends, laughing late into the night. He captures the living room, the chaos of the table with Declan's notebooks, the bottle of whiskey – because this is the Barns now too, sleepless nights, pain ignored for too long. It has been both for Ronan for as long as Adam has known him, the place where he was whole and happy and the site of his greatest loss. And now he's about to lose it all again.

Upstairs, he avoids the study and instead goes right to Ronan's old room. It's empty, and Adam takes a few pictures. There's remnants from who Ronan used to be, before he met him, colorful books on the shelf, some CDs with music that Ronan now only scoffs at but still doesn't throw out. But there's also signs of their life together: Adam's textbooks from Aglionby that he brought here when he gave up St. Agnes; his sweater on top of Ronan's on the chair. 

When Adam is done, he slips his phone back into his pocket. He feels a little lighter. He doesn't quite know why, but it makes the thought of giving it all up a little easier. They will have this, even when the Barns are gone. Proof it was all real, their life here, their life together.

He wanders back downstairs, out of the house, and slowly walks the grounds.

This, even more than the house itself, is where he can feel it: the quiet and calm that he associates with being at the Barns, the voices that talk in circles inside of his head silent for once. He sits down under a tree, leans his back against the trunk with the house a comfortable distance away. He breathes in the crisp air. There's flowers nearby, almost dried out by autumn breezes, and they rustle as he touches them; he pockets one of them, almost unthinkingly.

"Are you and Declan done?"

Adam startles a little – he doesn't know how long he was sitting there, the stillness inside mirroring the calm all around him. He hadn't heard Ronan approach him.

"Yeah. Just found some documents."

Ronan nods, then he sits down next to Adam and leans into him. Adam shivers a little and intertwines their hands

"You okay?" That's all any of them do anymore, he thinks wryly, is ask each other if they're okay, and of course the honest answer would be 'no'. But this isn't about demanding an honest answer, it's about showing he's here for Ronan, after messing things up for weeks.

Ronan sighs. "Not really."

"Are you taking anything with you?"

Ronan's hand tightens on his. "Wouldn't be much of a sacrifice if I cleared the place out first."

"You can take something, you know. As a memory."

"Maybe I did." Ronan reaches into the pockets of his jeans, and what he pulls out is the little car that plays a different tune with each wheel you turn. The car Adam was fiddling with when Ronan came in and kissed him for the first time. He puts it into the palm of Adam's hand, and Adam looks down at it as if it were a miracle, again – something so small, but so perfect, made with so much care.

Adam can't speak for a moment. It's almost too much that this is what Ronan would pick, of all the marvels in this wonderful place. Ronan touches his cheek, very gently, turns his face, and then Adam loses himself to the first kiss they've shared in months.

******

That night, they take blankets and pillows out to the tree house that Adam knows Ronan loves so much.

They curl up under them with entangled limbs, and Adam hears Ronan's heartbeat as he lays his head on his chest, a soothing rhythm.

They don't speak much, but they find comfort in each other, in their warm bodies and the smell of grass and earth that envelops them.

They fall asleep to the rustling of the leaves, Ronan finally allowing himself to drift off with Adam so close to him, and Adam follows not far behind.

****

There's no sleeping in late in a tree house; the light doesn't just come through a window, it comes through windows on all sides, and the door, and cracks in the walls. At least Adam wakes up _warm_, in spite of the nippy November air. He reaches out for Ronan before he's even fully awake, grins when Ronan takes his hand. But when he opens his eyes Ronan isn't smiling. He's staring up at the ceiling above them like he can see clear through it and the tree and probably the sky overhead, all the way to the stars, invisible in the daylight.

Adam takes a moment to watch without being seen. Ronan looks somber, a grim weight turning the corners of his mouth down, exhaustion leaving rings under his eyes even after last night's sleep. But he looks better than he has. He's preparing for a storm, but that means that he isn't just letting it rage around him.

Adam brings their clasped hands up to his mouth. "Morning."

"Yeah." He expects Ronan to savor the touch, to smile and lean into it, but instead he sits up, the movement abrupt.

Adam sits up too. Outside of the nest of blankets it's chilly; he's about to drag himself over to the ladder, despite the faint stiffness from sleeping on the wooden floor, but Ronan's grip on his hand tightens. He's still staring off past infinity, out the window this time. Adam settles his weight back, sits.

"I can't believe I fell asleep," Ronan says.

"You were tired. You needed it."

Ronan closes his eyes, his mouth a thin line. "That was the last night."

"Was there something else you wanted to do? We have some time." 

Ronan shakes his head, slowly once and then again, more definite. "That was a good night. For the end."

Adam almost thinks better of kissing him; Ronan's whole body is so tense it's vibrating, and he's breathing hard like he has to breathe through something. Adam doesn't want to burden him with one more physical demand, but he needs it, so he leans in and kisses Ronan, very lightly, just for a second, and Ronan returns it, equally brief, and it hits him like a lungful of pure oxygen.

"C'mon," Ronan says and heads for the ladder.

Declan's got breakfast half-assembled when they get to the kitchen. Adam expects Ronan to head straight for the coffee pot, but he stops in the doorway, a liminal space, not inside the house and not outside.

He says, abruptly, "It's time to go."

Declan looks over at him, pale and tired. Adam almost expects him to argue. They don't _have_ to leave for hours – for that matter check-in at the B&B for the one room they'd managed to procure isn't until noon; they're going to have to kill time somewhere. But Adam saw the minivan on the way in; Declan must have gotten up in the middle of the night to fetch it. Maybe he's just as eager to leave this place behind, after a night alone to dwell on his memories. And Ronan doesn't sound like he's trying to pick a fight. He says it like he's been holding it back and it's finally gotten too painful to keep quiet anymore.

"All right." Declan flips the dial to turn off the stove, sets the half-raw skillet of eggs on a cold burner, making sure he doesn't burn the house down before they can banish it from existence. "Do you want a hand with Matthew?"

It's another thing that could have so easily been fighting words, but Ronan nods, jerkily, and heads for the stairs.

Adam leaves it to the two of them, grabs his bag from the front hall and puts it in his car. The brothers descend the staircase, Declan carrying Matthew's feet and Ronan holding him by the arms. Adam gets the door, and they bring him over to the minivan and set him up in it. Ronan gets behind the wheel, an image that Adam is going to find funny someday in the future. Declan climbs into the passenger seat, his Volvo left in town from when he'd picked up the rental. Adam gets into his own car. The BMW sits idle in the driveway, a horse waiting for a rider that is never going to come back for it – Ronan had said, flat, "I stole it," and that was that. The BMW is getting left behind at the Barns, like it had been the first time they'd been cast out of their home. At least this time they don't have to leave the sleeper behind, too.

Ronan seems less strung out in town, which is good, because they have to kill time and then he and Adam have to carry Matthew into the B&B while Declan distracts the owner so they don't ask about the unconscious person staying in their property. The nerves and the awkward hilarity of Declan complaining about the lack of a bathtub in their room to the owner is a welcome distraction, and Adam grins at Ronan when they close the door behind them. He gets a little smirk in return. They put Matthew on the bed, and it's absurd somehow that he's still asleep through all of that. At some point he surely should have woken up and said _you can put me down now_; Adam would have snapped at getting carried around like that.

Ronan scowls, good humor all but gone, and fluffs the pillows aggressively.

Adam is still amused, and maybe it's just that the stress is making him prone to inappropriate laughter, but Ronan's evident anger at the pillows doesn't help. "I think they're fine."

"I _don't_. These fucking pillow cases have flowers on them."

"I don't think you can punch them so hard the flowers come off."

Ronan punches the pillow again, looking at Adam like he's making a point before he lifts Matthew up so his head rests on them, and then he's just standing there, no purpose.

Adam stops smiling and puts his hand on Ronan's cheek. Ronan reaches his hand up to cover it and frowns. "Hey. It's almost over."

"I know. I want it to be done _now_."

"Do you want to do it here?" Adam asks, but Ronan shakes his head. They'd talked about this: Cabeswater felt like the best place for Ronan to be, while Henrietta, near Declan and a well-stocked first aid kit and emergency medical services, felt like the best place for Matthew to be, in case – just in case.

They drive out to Cabeswater, abandon the car at the edge of the forest and enter on foot. Adam lets Ronan take the lead. He doesn't know where they're going and he thinks Ronan doesn't either, just that he'll know it when he sees it. He must find what he's looking for, or else he can't stand seeing any more decay, because he finally comes to a halt in a small clearing and drops down onto a thick bed of moss, sitting on his heels.

"I'm going to try to call now," Adam says. Ronan doesn't acknowledge that he heard. They all know that Cabeswater doesn't play well with phones, and Declan will have been watching the clock since they left, but a call to coordinate, to warn, still sounded like a good idea.

His phone claims to have a signal. It has more bars now, out in this wilderness, than it gets in the ugly cinder block bunker his physics discussion is in, which is depressing. At least it is also convenient. He hits dial on Declan's number. 

"You're there?" Declan answers, skipping a greeting.

"Yeah," Adam says. "We're about to start."

"All right."

Adam hesitates. He's looking right at Ronan, so he knows that he hasn't moved a muscle. He could be paying very close attention; he could be paying no attention at all. He has an absurd impulse to offer him the phone, to let Ronan and Declan speak to each other before this starts, as though they hadn't just seen each other an hour ago, as though they don't go days without talking.

"We'll see you soon," he says. More optimistic than _goodbye._ Less dangerous than _good luck_.

Declan hangs up on him.

Ronan rocks backward, sits on the ground and stretches his legs out in front of him. His palms crush the moss briefly as he shifts his weight, and Adam has the sudden absurd worry that Ronan is going to get his clothes dirty. He wants to offer up his lap again, but Ronan's already lying down, and Adam doesn't think he can hold still long enough to support him.

Ronan shuts his eyes. They snap back open again.

"I'll be right here, okay?" Adam says softly. "The whole time." They'd talked about this too; Ronan had said that he thought it would be better if he went in alone. _It was loud in the dream, when you were in there_, and Adam had nodded without arguing.

Ronan closes his eyes again. Adam falls down into a crouch, hands braced on the earth in front of him. He listens closely to Ronan's breathing until he can tell he's fallen asleep, and then he tries to slow his own breathing. It doesn't work at first, so he focuses on the sounds of Cabeswater around him, the rustle of leaves and a quiet trickle of running water somewhere out of view, all the usual nature sounds. But there's the occasional snatch of something that isn't natural at all, voices speaking without words, echoes of civilizations that fell so long ago no one knows the language.

He doesn't know how this is going to hit him. It might be best to lie down like Ronan is. If he loses consciousness he could break something through nothing but gravity and bad luck. If he doesn't lose consciousness something worse could happen.

He's afraid.

He's afraid, but he can handle it, and Ronan is letting him handle it. Ronan trusts him to deal with whatever comes next.

So he doesn't lie down; he holds himself ready. His muscles tighten in anticipation, confused by this unnatural posture, pushing down even while he's pulling up, staying in place through a great effort, and he focuses on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In –

Something catches in his lungs, like a fish hook tugging once when it meets resistance – and then it _pulls_, pulls on his breath to make him inhale deeper, which feels backward, but he's more concerned that it keeps going. He can't keep breathing in, this is too much, he has too much oxygen in his lungs, but somehow he keeps inhaling anyway. He feels the air seeping through his skin, all the little molecules drifting out as though there were no barrier from inside of his body back out into the forest.

And what _is_ the difference, after all? He flows along with the air, returns out to the forest. Out to the one living thing that is thousands of living things, all reaching for each other and pulling away at the same time, a balancing act marred by every place a living thing should be but isn't.

It's so easy to see the problem like this, to see where a _pull_ lacks its counter-pull and rips at the fabric instead of holding it taut, where a push meets no resistance and overflows, causing a flood – and there in the middle of all of it is one boy trying to smooth these thousand cascading errors into place with just two hands, and getting torn apart by them instead. He's shaking already, and this is only going to get worse.

A crackle runs through the air like electricity, a mighty imperative from the one that is the forest, spread through the thousands that are the forest, and to the boy, alone. The forest wants to help him, but it's twisting itself out of shape the longer it lives like this. It needs help before it can help anyone else.

The boy digs his fingers deep into the forest and _holds_, even through his convulsions, even when he cries out –

For one moment everything stops and hangs in the harmony of perfect stillness.

The next moment Adam collapses forward onto hands and knees, coughing.

It lasts for several seconds; by the time he stops coughing he has a sore throat, the beginnings of a headache, and the keen sense that he just missed out on something much worse. He's tired all over, like he had the most strenuous workout of his life, and at some point he gripped so hard he tore up huge chunks of moss. There's dirt packed under his fingernails.

"I'm okay," he says, because Ronan would have heard the coughing, and because it's true.

Ronan's eyes are locked shut, but Adam can tell he's awake.

"I'm okay," he says again, "I'm right here next to you." He leans over and falls into a seat next to Ronan, close but not touching, not until his eyes have opened and he can feel it. Then Adam puts a hand under his shoulder and helps prop him up. Ronan moves slowly, like his body is just realizing that it's had enough of sleeping on the ground.

Ronan says, "It's gone."

"Then – this is over."

Ronan doesn't answer right away. "I need to see him."

Adam looks at his phone. It tells him that it's thirty-three minutes past thirty-three o'clock. He tries calling Declan's number anyway, but there's no sound on the line. Cabeswater has already recovered enough to be back to its old tricks.

Ronan shoves up off the ground and stomps off back through the trees. Adam follows, more careful of the plant life around them.

Ronan snaps at him, but Adam knows it isn’t really at him at all. "Call him again."

Adam tries; it doesn't work.

"Can you just – _try_," Ronan says, an open plea. Adam drains his battery down to nearly nothing dialing over and over again. They're at the car before he gets through to Declan's phone.

It isn't Declan who answers.

"Parrish! Hey! Did you know it's November?"

****

The drive to the B&B passes in a haze. Adam is so tired he has trouble focusing, but Ronan’s presence next to him is razor-sharp and the energy radiating off him keeps Adam awake, pulling at him whenever he is slipping away. Sacrificing the Barns doesn’t seem to have drained him at all, quite the opposite – he’s more _there_ than he’s been in days. Maybe Cabeswater’s restoration also fixed something inside its Greywaren; or maybe this is Ronan holding on for dear life, until he sees his brother. He's drumming his fingers against the wheel incessantly, his leg bouncing, his face somewhere between happy and feral, relieved and manic. At some point, he reaches for Adam’s hand and brings it to his lips, the gentleness at odds with the tension and vigilance on his face. He doesn’t let go for a long time.

And then they're at the B&B.

Ronan stalks down the hall, almost starts running. He gets to the door while Adam is several feet behind him, but still close enough that when Ronan opens the door he can see past him into the room: Matthew sitting on the bed, his blond hair sticking up in all directions, his eyes bright with confusion or indignation.

"Ronan, you’re _so late_! Declan is _fussing_."

He doesn’t see Ronan’s face, but he sees him take a half-step back, almost recoiling. Almost like he can’t believe what he sees, or like he's afraid that Matthew will disappear like a mirage if he gets too close. But then Ronan takes the last quick steps forward, and he has Matthew in something that might be considered a hug but looks an awful lot like a headlock while Matthew squirms and whines. "_Ro-naaaaan_!"

Ronan doesn’t let go for a long time.

***

Declan picked up dinner at the grocery store, a rotisserie chicken and mashed potatoes and a pumpkin pie, and they taste terrible, but it doesn’t matter. Adam doesn’t think they are allowed to eat in the room like that, sitting on the double beds with their ugly floral bedding, spreading crumbs everywhere, but that doesn’t matter either. Nothing matters much anymore, because Adam leans into Ronan and Ronan buries his nose in his hair, and he’s warm and solid and _okay_. Because Matthew is laughing at a joke he just told, and it’s a terrible joke, but both Declan and Ronan are united in laughter the way they never are and maybe never will be again. Because if they're on the edge of hysterics, then Adam is the only one who notices, since Matthew just looks smug and happy. Because Adam doesn’t have to speak, doesn’t have to make excuses or lie – because _it’s over_.

At one point Adam slips out of the room to get his bag out of his car, returns to find Ronan leaning against the wall outside the room, fiddling with the knotted leather bands on his wrist. 

Adam smiles. "Hey."

Ronan doesn’t smile. Away from Matthew’s light, he suddenly looks exhausted again, the sacrifice he made etched into the taut lines of his body. "He's the same. He's exactly the same," Ronan says, words he ought to smile over; instead he sounds gutted. "He didn’t change at all. All of that was for nothing."

And then Adam understands what weighs on Ronan still. What an idiot he is for not figuring this out, not reassuring Ronan sooner. "It worked, Ronan. He’s … normal."

Ronan’s face lights up, and it almost hurts to see how brittle the hope there is. "Are you sure?"

"One hundred percent. I can feel it. There’s no dreamstuff in him anymore."

Ronan takes a deep breath, and it almost sounds like a sob, and then he pulls Adam close. He runs his hands down his back, carefully, mindful of Adam’s injuries, and when Adam directs his head onto his good shoulder, he goes willingly. Adam feels the last of the tension ebbing away as Ronan hides his face in the crook of Adam’s neck. He smells like the Barns, still, all grass and wet soil and old wood, and Adam wonders if he’ll lose that smell now, or if that smell belongs to Ronan himself as much as to the place that he was forced to give up.

"I’m sorry. I was awful to you."

It’s a little muffled and so quiet that Adam almost doesn’t catch it. He didn’t need to hear it, not after feeling the horrified shame and remorse in Ronan’s dream. And he knows he did his part to make this mess, that he'd pushed Ronan further into a bad situation. But it still loosens a tense knot inside of him, to hear those words – because if Ronan can face the guilt and anger and decide to apologize, then it truly is over.

There are more words that will have to be said, a lot of them – but not now, when he finally has Ronan pressed up against him again, his weight comforting and grounding. Instead, he just tilts his head and presses a kiss to Ronan’s neck.

"We did something good today," he says. "We saved Matthew. We saved Cabeswater. Right now, that's the part I want to remember."

Ronan lifts his head up. The smile he gives Adam is a faint thing, not all there, but that's fine; Adam has his own half-smile. Together, they are enough. 


	5. Epilogue

Something is on fire. 

Ronan doesn't bother getting up from the couch, because he is by now used to Matthew's terrible cooking experiments. He can hear his little brother frantically moving about the kitchen, making sounds of distress, but whatever he's doing isn't very effective. There's still billows of black smoke coming out of the kitchen, and for one moment Ronan considers whether he should go help, after all.

Declan runs past him with a harried expression, and Ronan grins to himself. Good thing he didn't intervene: this is way more hilarious.

"Again?" There's the sound of something dumped into the sink, then running water.

Matthew starts pleading. "I'm _sooorryyy_, Declan, I think I misread the cooking time, I didn't mean for it to burn like that!"

Ronan hears Declan sigh. "It's fine. Just promise never to cook when I'm not in the apartment."

Matthew sounds miserable. "But what are we gonna eat now? Adam is coming, and it's my fault we don't have anything!"

Declan clears his throat. "I stopped by the grocery store this afternoon. It was meant for tomorrow, but we can just make it today."

Ronan smirks. Declan's lie is obvious, for someone who ought to be used to lying by now. Declan must have expected this to go wrong from the very beginning. He's even more familiar with Matthew's lack of culinary skills than Ronan is, after a solid week of Matthew living in his apartment. But if Declan has learned something about Matthew during the Aglionby Christmas holiday, Matthew has not learned how to tell when Declan's lying; Ronan can hear that he's beaming when he speaks next.

"Awesome! Do you want to help?"

"I think that would be a good idea," Declan says dryly. "You can start with chopping the carrots. I'll be back in a moment."

Declan takes care to close the door when he steps out of the kitchen, then he expressively rolls his eyes in Ronan's direction. There's sounds of enthusiastic work coming from the next room, more clanking than one would expect for chopping vegetables.

"I really don't know how he survives living by himself."

Ronan, curled up on the sofa with one of Declan's fucking boring books about history, just shrugs. "He barely does. Burger King makes a fortune off him."

Declan gives Ronan _a look_. "You would know. He told me you've been pestering him all the time."

"Bullshit, he loves me."

"His exact phrasing might have been that he's happy you visit so often but he's confused why you bother."

"Yeah, of course he's happy, I made a great impression on his friends. Hooked them up with weed."

Declan rolls his eyes again, this time at Ronan's expense instead of for his benefit. "Sure. Because that's what Matthew needs, a substance to make him more relaxed about his life."

Ronan frowns, looking back down at the book in his hands without really seeing it. "I think he doesn't really get what happened. The danger he was in."

"He's a teenage boy. They famously think they're immortal."

"Well, he isn't."

Declan quirks an eyebrow at him: _I'm sorry, are you trying to complain to me about thoughtless little brothers risking their lives?_ "Have you talked to him about it?"

"Yeah." Ronan grimaces. "He apologized for making so much trouble. Like it was something that happened to me, not to him."

"I suppose that's considerate. Or it's proof that he has an oversized guilt complex like everyone else in this family."

Ronan flips a page. What had he expected Declan to say, anyway? It's not like he needed Declan to help him deal with this. Or like there was anything to deal with, really. Matthew is fine, he’s real and solid and will live a long life independently of Ronan, even if at times it’s a really stupid, burning-dinner-three-times-in-a-row kind of life. He flicks another page and hears a small tear.

"Matthew isn't going to be a teenager forever," Declan says. "This is just going to be one of those experiences he has to learn how to reconcile with his life. That doesn't happen overnight. He has time for that, now. You made sure of that."

Ronan takes note of how Declan gives him all the credit without mentioning any blame, and if he feels a little warm inside at that, it's surely only because being around Matthew so much has turned him into a fucking sap.

The buzzer for the front door goes off, and Ronan drops the book and jumps up before Declan can answer it to show off what a great host he is.

_Adam._

Ronan doesn't even give Adam time to walk up the two floors to Declan's apartment. He runs down and meets him before he's finished shutting the door behind him. Adam looks up, and for a moment Ronan’s mind flashes back to their last reunion, how tired and breakable Adam had seemed. But the vision disappears and he sees Adam _now_, wraps his arms around him. Adam laughs breathlessly until a kiss shuts him up. There's snow melting on his jacket, under Ronan's bare arms, because he hadn't known he'd need to wear more than a t-shirt inside Declan's overheated apartment.

When they part, Adam is grinning again. "Impatient much?"

Reluctantly, Ronan lets go and gets a proper look at his boyfriend. Adam's nose is red from the cold outside, but he looks healthy, and there's a happy little twinkle in his eyes. The wan, pained boy that spent Thanksgiving at the Barns is gone. Ronan has watched him disappear bit by bit, on long Skype calls, every conversation less difficult and stilted than the last. Until now, when Adam is finally in front of him, and Ronan never wants to stop looking.

He swipes at the white flakes on Adam's shoulders. "Why are you full of snow?"

Adam grimaces. "Had to park two blocks away."

Ronan takes Adam's bag out of his hand and starts climbing the stairs, ignoring the faint protest. "You've been carrying that bag for two blocks already, Parrish. Let your boyfriend be a gentleman for once."

Adam shrugs. "It's really not heavy, Ronan."

"You can make it up to me. With a blowjob."

Adam shakes his head, exasperation that would be more convincing if he weren't blushing faintly. "Someone could hear you, you know."

"Good."

"Adaaaam!"

Matthew basically jumps into Adam's arms when they enter the apartment, and Adam is laughing again, while Declan stands in the background and watches the scene with an indulgent, patient expression.

"It's so cool you're here! Ronan is boring without you."

Ronan defends his wounded pride, but it's an intellectual decision, not an emotional one. "Hey!"

Matthew wrinkles his nose. "I mean, you're ok, but you're always worried. And you read _books_. About _history_." It’s said with more disgust than Ronan knew his little brother was capable of.

Adam says "and how exactly am I an improvement there?" at the same time as Ronan says "not my fault Declan's taste in books is rotten."

Declan crosses his arms. "It's nice to hear that my two brothers are so grateful to be staying with me, in my _tiny apartment_."

Adam seems torn between amusement and annoyance, and Ronan can read him clearly: _This apartment is huge_, his skeptical eyebrows say. Ronan suspects Declan is well aware of that and just mocking them, but who is he, someone intent on saving Declan's honor? _Pfft please._

"Hi Declan. Sorry you have to put up with one more person."

"Well, you're definitely going to be the easiest roommate of the lot. Just stay away from the knife block."

Ronan is almost impressed that Declan has the guts to try and make light of this, already. Maybe someday it will even be funny.

It isn't today, although Adam says "ha" once, a very fake, very weak laugh.

Matthew interrupts the moment, blundering in, because he wasn't even aware of the tension. He's beaming, and Ronan loves him so much. "Anyywayyys. So I burned dinner, sorry!"

Adam smirks. "You burned dinner?"

"Yes but Declan had more dinner ready! We're making it now."

"Can I help?" Adam asks, always the polite Southerner, and how dare he offer to spend time with his brothers instead of with Ronan.

"No, Matthew needs to fix his mistake."

"Is that wise?"

"I'm supervising. It'll take a while. You just get settled in your room." Declan's smile is knowing. Ronan would take offense at that, but with Adam right there, safe and sound and still wrapped in way too many layers of clothes, there's no part of Ronan that can be preoccupied with his stupid brother. He all but drags Adam towards the guest room.

****

They stretch the definition of 'a while,' but Ronan doesn't care. No one has interrupted them, and Ronan bets that they have Declan to thank for that exercise in restraint. Not that he's going to thank him, of course. In fact, Declan should thank _him_ for how quiet they were. It wasn't easy, once they got over the initial shyness and let their touches turn hungry and desperate.

Now Adam is in his arms, warm and relaxed, and it’s like a huge weight he didn’t even know he was carrying has dropped off Ronan’s shoulders. "So, have I made it up to you?"

"A little. Not fully."

Adam cranes his head up to look at him, and there's a challenge in his eyes. "You're complaining?"

"Well, it's less fun if you can't make any sounds because your boyfriend is terrified of people knowing that he's sleeping with you."

Adam rolls his eyes fondly. "I just think it'd be in poor style to bother Declan like that. He already has to put up with your company."

"My company? I'm family! You're the intruder here."

"Oh, should we ask Declan who he'd rather have at his place, me or you?"

Ronan ruffles his hair a little more aggressively than necessary. "Don't even say shit like that, Parrish."

Adam laughs, and he's so beautiful that Ronan has to look away. But then he slips out from under the covers and Ronan shivers a little at the loss of contact.

"Much as I'd like to make sure my customer is satisfied, we should go. Your brothers are waiting."

Ronan doesn't answer. He studies Adam by the window as he picks up his pants. Everything stands out in clear detail in the white light of winter, and it's almost like it used to be, before everything went to hell.

Almost, but not quite. The scar where Cabeswater made him stab himself is red and ugly on his pale arm, and there are faint lines across his chest, fading but still visible. The bruises around his shoulder are gone, but when Adam picks his shirt up, it's obvious that he's still being careful with his shoulder, his movements even more measured and precise than usual.

Adam notices Ronan watching him, and he doesn't flinch, doesn't hide. He just pulls on his shirt while looking calmly at Ronan. Waiting for him to say something.

Ronan remains silent. There's nothing to say anymore, they've been through it so often. All that’s left inside of him is the burning need to touch Adam, to keep him safe and never let him go. But he knows that this is just his own fading bruise – he will drink in as much as he can of Adam while he’s here, but then he’ll be able to let go again, and Adam will come back, until it doesn’t hurt anymore.

When Adam is sure that Ronan won't bring it up, he sits down and puts on his socks. "How are things at the B&B?"

Ronan considers telling him how much he still misses the Barns, and how he doesn't know where he belongs now. The B&B is temporary, everyone knows that, but he wants to stay near Matthew, even if it's hard. But there's something soft in Adam's eyes, and Ronan knows he doesn't have to say any of that for Adam to understand. Just like he has been watching that shadow version of Adam slip away, bit by bit, Adam has been watching him – has seen how he went from raw devastation and intense relief to a quiet sadness that lingers even through his joy at having his brother back. And Adam has felt it, too, those rare moments when he scryed into Ronan’s dreams again, both of them careful in their magic until they couldn’t be anymore, until they gave in to Cabeswater’s prodding and opened up to each other fully. It's a blessing and a curse, to be connected that way. More curse than blessing of late, but things are changing, and there’s so much they haven’t even explored yet. So much they will get to explore together.

So Ronan tries to think of something Adam _doesn’t_ already know. "I bought black sheets. Told them to take those flowery abominations away."

Adam raises a brow. "Black sheets. That's hardcore. I bet they were thrilled."

"I think they think I run a satanic cult out of their establishment."

Adam grins. "So they figured you out pretty quickly."

Adam has stepped back to the bed and holds out his hand, and Ronan takes it, lets himself be pulled up by Adam's good arm. Where did he leave his clothes again? But Adam doesn't let him go, instead wraps his arms around him and hides his face in the crook of Ronan's neck. His voice is soft and a little muffled when he speaks.

"You know, you could maybe visit it in dreams."

Ronan doesn't have to ask what Adam means. He has thought of it himself – after all, they gave the Barns back to Cabeswater, to that not-real too-real dream world that it came from, that he can go back to every time he sleeps. Maybe Adam has already seen it there, while scrying. But somehow, the idea is too painful, right now – a home that slips from his hands whenever he wakes up. Ronan needs time. He needs to make a new home for himself first.

"Maybe. But not yet."

He can feel Adam nod, then Adam looks up at him as he grips Ronan's hand tightly. His eyes are bright and a little sad at the same time. "You know, if you want to you could…"

He doesn't go on, but Ronan does know: that Adam is offering him a place to belong, at least for a while, that he just has to hold out his hands and take it whenever he's ready. It's there, waiting. Ronan nods.

"Soon. Maybe."

Adam smiles a private little smile. "You should get dressed."

"Or what, Declan will tell me off?"

"Or I will die of hunger." Adam goes to collect Ronan's clothes, and Ronan feels a little cold now that he doesn't have Adam pressed against him. 

"You might die of hunger anyway. Matthew probably burnt the second attempt at dinner too," he scoffs.

Adam throws Ronan his sweater, undeterred. "Let's go and find out."

They leave the room, and damn, maybe his dumb brothers have actually managed to cook this time, because it smells great.

Adam squeezes his hand and doesn't let go. Ronan holds on tight and follows as Adam heads toward the kitchen, toward the sounds of bright laughter and warm conversation, and for a moment it almost feels like home.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this fic, you can [reblog it on tumblr](https://toast-the-unknowing.tumblr.com/post/188305421125/wrap-my-flesh-in-ivy-and-in-twine-chapter-1).


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